


Igniting Fires

by shions_heart



Series: Being Human [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (Up The Wazoo), Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst, Demon Hunters, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slavery, Slow Burn, Violence, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-09 23:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 85,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20518301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: Kunimi Akira’s birthday is fast approaching, and young witch student Kindaichi Yuutarou fears for his best friend’s life, knowing he must undergo a dangerous trial within the Hell Dimension of Hinokoku once he turns eighteen.With nowhere else to turn, he asks Demon Hunters Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime for help in taking down the sadistic House of the White Rose before it’s too late.Meanwhile, Yahaba Shigeru finds his studies for the witch license exam rudely interrupted by the arrival of a certain Hell Hound, and the demon Hanamaki Takahiro tries to get the handsome witch tutor to fall in love with him.





	1. Stirring the Coals

**Author's Note:**

> You do not need to have read the other chaptered fics in the Being Human AU to understand this one, but it will help fill in the blanks. You _will_ need to read the oneshot _[The Way Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321527)_ to understand most of the backstory stuff, however.
> 
> And now, let's give it up for Aobajohsai . . .

some say the world will end in fire,  
some say in ice.  
from what i've tasted of desire,  
i hold with those who favor fire.  
  
\-- robert frost

* * *

Kunimi Akira rests his head against his arms, which are folded over his textbook. Outside, the cold, dreary February weather has brought rain along with it, and it pelts against the windowpanes of the study. Distant thunder rumbles, and Kunimi lets himself doze, lulled into a sleepy state by the combination of sounds. It doesn’t take much for him to fall asleep, honestly, especially not on days like this, when he’s been cooped up for hours and there’s freezing rain outside but the heat from the kotatsu he’s seated under spreads warmth throughout his torso.

“Oi! Akira-kun~”

A sharp nail taps against his forehead. Kunimi frowns and attempts to bury his face further into his arms.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t absorb that material through osmosis, so you’d better wake up before you find yourself halfway down a demon’s gullet after forgetting an essential spell.”

Kunimi sighs. “I’ve been studying for hours. Five minutes won’t kill me.”

“So you say, and then suddenly—”

Kunimi smacks away the hand that tries to grab him, twisting his wrist around to then grip the arm attached to it. Lifting his head with a frown, he blinks at the demon smirking back at him.

“So,” the demon, named Hanamaki Takahiro by Kunimi’s grandfather, draws the word out mockingly, “you remember your physical training, at least.”

“Makki, stop harassing Akira-kun.”

They both look over as Kunimi’s tutor, a tall man with heavy eyebrows and dark curly hair steps into the room and observes them both. Matsukawa Issei, twenty-five and already one of the most expensive magic tutors in Tokyo, sets his briefcase down on an armchair by the door, taking off his rain-soaked coat. Hanamaki slips out of Kunimi’s grasp easily, straightening from his crouch to hop up on top of the kotatsu, crossing his legs as he grabs his knees and grins.

“It’s not harassment, it’s part of his training. Testing his reflexes.”

“Feels like harassment,” Kunimi admits blandly, not bothering to move his textbook out of the way, even as Hanamaki’s tail swishes back and forth across it, rustling the pages.

The demon has to don a human appearance whenever the family has guests but considering both Kunimi and Matsukawa know Hanamaki’s true identity, he tends to not bother with it when in their company. Kunimi’s gotten used to seeing the horns, wings, and tail of the demon, along with his sharp teeth, pointed ears, and long black nails that protrude from both hands and feet. His pale skin is marked with the brand “Property of Kunimi” in Japanese, courtesy of the contract he made with Kunimi’s grandfather years ago.

Kunimi knows it’s outside the norm to have a family demon, but he’s never known anything different. According to the contract, Hanamaki must protect all members of the Kunimi household, and he was also given instruction to teach Kunimi the physical requirements necessary to pass both his Hinokoku trial at eighteen and his license exam at twenty-one. Kunimi can’t remember a time when he didn’t have Hanamaki at his side.

Matsukawa wasn’t supposed to know about Hanamaki’s role in the family, but after catching the demon changing forms one day, he was let in on the secret. Kunimi’s parents offered to buy him off, but he insisted it wasn’t any of his business. Kunimi thinks he actually finds the demon interesting and has caught the man studying the demon when he thinks nobody’s watching.

Kunimi glances toward the windows, watching the rain dripping down the glass, as Matsukawa gestures for Hanamaki to get off the kotatsu with an exasperated look.

“Don’t be a nuisance.”

“You like it when I’m a nuisance.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“The fact that you keep coming back to see me, obviously.”

“I come to tutor Akira-kun.”

“So you say.”

Kunimi sighs. “If you two are just going to flirt, may I be excused?”

Matsukawa frowns, as Hanamaki snickers and climbs off the kotatsu, smoothing down the wrinkles in his clothes. Kunimi’s mom tailors them for him, making openings for his wings and tail when he’s not in human form. Kunimi knows Hanamaki prefers to wear a fundoshi and nothing else when in demon form, giving him free range of movement to hop around wherever he likes, but ever since he met Matsukawa, he’s been wearing the colorful and gaudy pieces whenever the man comes over. Kunimi wonders if that’s his version of peacocking.

“You have a month until your trial, Akira-kun. You must spend as much time studying and training as you can,” Matsukawa says, sitting across from him at the kotatsu and pulling a book from his briefcase.

“If I study anymore my eyes will fall out,” Kunimi deadpans.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki exchange a look.

“You haven’t turned a single page in the past two hours,” Hanamaki points out, the traitor.

Matsukawa sighs and rubs his forehead. “Look, I know you’re a bright kid. Your practice scores are always excellent.”

Kunimi blinks, feeling a “but” coming.

“But this trial is designed to break those that take it. Only those with incredibly strong will or intelligence make it through. You have the intelligence, but I’m worry about your stamina and your ability to react quickly under pressure. You need to have these spells ready at a moment’s notice and have the magical and physical strength to carry them out. We don’t know what kind of demons or Hell Beasts you’ll encounter. You need to be ready.”

Kunimi sighs, looking out the window once more. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t think that he’ll make it through the trial. He knows he has the intellect to strategize and work efficiently towards a goal, but when faced with physical danger, he doubts he’ll have the stamina or the will to push through. He plans on doing his best to just avoid any obstacles that require actual fighting, but he knows he can’t rely on that.

Growing up, he was never as gung-ho about being a Demon Hunter as some of his friends. He figures he’ll end up as some sort of accountant or shopkeeper at the end of the day, but if he wants to keep his magic, he still has to pass the trial and then take the license exam. The House of the White Rose takes away the magic of those that fail or refuse, and that’s one outcome he wants to avoid at all costs.

Magic makes life easier for him, and the power feels _good._ He remembers the first time he cast a spell correctly and made his milk pour itself into his cereal when he was twelve. His pride at the accomplishment and power he felt was addictive.

So, he either dies in Hinokoku or he pushes through and overcomes whatever test the coven leader has planned for him. He’ll probably die, but between that and living without magic, he figures it’s worth the risk.

“Fine,” he says, turning to look back at Matsukawa and Hanamaki. “What’s my lesson for today?”

He doesn’t trust the grin that lights Hanamaki’s face, or the faint smirk playing on Matsukawa’s.

Four hours later, his brain feels like mush and all his muscles ache. Neither Hanamaki nor Matsukawa pulled any punches, his tutor firing off questions about spells even as Hanamaki sparred with him in hand-to-hand combat. Thankfully, they look satisfied by the end of the long session, giving each other dutiful high-fives, even as Kunimi gasps for breath on the floor of the training room between them.

“I hate you both,” he wheezes, though he’s unable to put much energy into the statement.

“I feel like some ice cream. How about you, Mattsun?”

“Ice cream sounds good. Shall I meet you in the kitchens?”

“I’ll save you a seat!”

“Don’t eat all the chocolate chip!”

“What was that? Sorry, I can’t hear you~” Hanamaki calls back with a laugh, already out of the room and into the main part of the house.

Matsukawa shakes his head, crouching beside Kunimi then. He reaches down and pats him on the head. “You did good today,” he says with a nod. “Keep working on casting spells as you fight and remember demons don’t have to use spells to channel their magic, so you won’t always know what’s coming.”

Kunimi just closes his eyes, throwing one arm over his face. “Are you done?”

Matsukawa chuckles softly. “Yeah, I’m done.”

_“Oi, Akira-kun~ Your shallot-haired boyfriend is here to see you.”_

Hanamaki’s voice curls around the back of Kunimi’s mind, and he grits his teeth, throwing his other arm over his face and telling himself the flush he feels is left over from sparring.

_“He’s not my boyfriend,”_ he pushes back, hating whenever Hanamaki uses this form of communication. It’s invasive and always makes him feel like Hanamaki knows more about him than he’s comfortable with.

_“Whatever you say, Akira-kun.”_

_“Go suck Matsukawa’s dick.”_

He feels more than hears Hanamaki’s laughter in his head, which sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

_“Don’t think I’m not trying!”_

“You okay?” Matsukawa’s voice above him sounds more curious than concerned.

Kunimi sighs. “Hanamaki-san is waiting for you in the kitchen.” He peeks out from between his arms to watch Matsukawa’s reaction to this, but his face is inscrutable. He’s about as good at hiding his emotions as Kunimi is.

“Make sure you stretch properly before you leave,” he says, making no comment other than that as he straightens and heads out of the room.

Kunimi keeps his arms covering his face, closing his eyes, as he continues to regulate his breathing and get his heartrate down to a normal pace. Sparring always requires more energy than Kunimi is usually willing to expend, and even though a hot bath sounds _amazing_ right now, he can’t seem to get his limbs to move.

He ends up dozing right there on the floor, and he isn’t sure how long it is before he hears a quiet knock in the doorway.

“Kunimi-kun?”

Kindaichi. Kunimi swallows hard before replying.

“Come in.”

He hears the shuffling of footsteps, and then the floor vibrating beneath him, as Kindaichi Yuutarou walks over to him and sits down. Kunimi feels a finger poke at his arm.

“Are you dead?” Kindaichi’s voice is soft with just a hint of teasing, almost like he’s afraid Kunimi will take offense if he makes it too obvious.

Kunimi snorts in response. “Nearly.”

There’s silence and then some more vibrations, as Kindaichi moves to lay down beside him. Kunimi lowers his arms from his face, opening his eyes to turn and look at his best friend. He lays upside down to Kunimi, so their faces are near each other but facing opposite directions. From this angle, Kunimi can see the raised skin of Kindaichi’s scar that runs from his forehead down to his cheekbone, just missing his left eye. Most witches that make it back from Hinokoku bear scars of some kind. Kunimi knows Kindaichi has three more across his back, claw marks from the demon he fought during his time in the Hell dimension.

White hot anger simmers within Kunimi’s chest, and he turns his gaze back to the ceiling, closing his eyes after a moment and taking a deep, steadying breath.

“Matsukawa-san and Hanamaki-san were hard on you today, huh?”

“Mm.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should come over today, because of the rain, but I figured you might want a break. I know you’ve been working hard lately.”

“Not really,” Kunimi admits, knowing Kindaichi won’t want to hear that.

Sure enough, he feels the floorboards creak and shudder, as Kindaichi props himself up on his elbow. He can imagine his friend’s face now, awash with horror and concern.

“You can’t do that, Kunimi-kun! You can’t slack off with only a month left until your birthday!”

Kunimi sighs softly. “What’s the point?” he asks, effectively keeping any emotion from his voice. “I’m just going to die anyway.”

“Don’t _say_ that!”

Kindaichi’s cry makes Kunimi wince internally. They’ve been best friends since elementary school, so he expected an outburst, but he wasn’t prepared for it to sound so . . . anguished. Guilt pricks the edges of his chest, and he opens his eyes to find Kindaichi staring down at him, face pale, mouth agape. Kunimi stiffens.

“Well? What do you expect? I’m not as strong as you,” he mumbles, turning his face away to stare at the wall instead.

“But you’re _way_ smarter! I bet you could’ve defeated the demon that found me in two minutes without a scratch.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Kunimi says, frowning slightly.

The anger from before returns. He still remembers the vacant look in Kindaichi’s eyes, as the healers attended to his wounds at the hospital. He wasn’t able to best the demon that captured and tortured him, but he managed to escape and that’s what earned him his permit to continue practicing magic to study for his license exam. Kunimi thinks that’s courageous in of itself, but Kindaichi still considers his assignment a failure. Kunimi knows he still has nightmares.

His chest tightens, and he sits up, turning back to look at Kindaichi. He’s frowning, his cheeks flushed. Kunimi looks at the scar near his eye and wishes he knew what demon did that. If he has to die in Hinokoku, he wants to take that demon with him.

“I’m not exaggerating,” Kindaichi insists, shaking his head. “You can’t give up on yourself. You’re smart and you’re fast when you want to be. You just . . .” He runs a hand through his spiked-up hair, and Kunimi follows the movement with his eyes to avoid meeting Kindaichi’s gaze. Kindaichi’s hand trembles. “You have to pass. Promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to pass.”

Kunimi’s chest tightens. Kindaichi’s looking at him so intensely, Kunimi doesn’t know what to do with all that emotion. Expressing feelings isn’t something the Kunimi family does. His parents find it inappropriate or unproper. His father’s a member of the House of the White Rose Coven Council, austere and respected. His mother hosts dinner parties and fundraisers, always prim, always perfect. Kunimi can’t be anything less; he learned that at a young age. Even Hanamaki minds his manners around Kunimi’s parents, though that might just be part of the contract.

Kunimi’s fairly certain he’ll never get used to the way Kindaichi wears his heart on his sleeve like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Even now there are tears filling his eyes, and Kunimi has to look away again.

“Fine. I promise. Stop crying.”

“I’m not crying!” Kindaichi insists, though he sniffs and passes his sleeve over his eyes. He sighs, then, hard enough to ruffle the damp hair by Kunimi’s ear. He suppresses a shiver.

Glad that’s over with, he lays down once more and closes his eyes. Maybe he can sneak a nap in before taking a shower. After a moment, Kindaichi lies down again, as well.

“I’ll help you,” Kindaichi says after a moment.

“How? I’m already training.”

“I’ll think of something.”

Kunimi doesn’t reply. After a moment, he lifts one hand, reaching up until he comes in contact with Kindaichi’s hair. He pushes his fingers into the strands, ignoring the sound of Kindaichi’s sharp inhale, and finds a clump stuck together with hair-gel. He starts absently working his fingers through it, scraping flakes of gel away gently with his nails, as he listens to the rain outside and Kindaichi’s breathing beside him, as it slowly evens out.

_“Stay out of the training room.”_

Hanamaki’s response is instantaneous. _“Gross. Make sure you use protection!”_

Kunimi refuses to acknowledge that.

* * *

Yahaba Shigeru can’t help but feel like something is missing. He has all the right textbooks to study for the written portion of the license exam and knows most, if not all, of the spells he’s going to demonstrate during the physical portion. But somehow, he feels like everything he’s prepared so far is only going to help him pass. He wants to do more than that. He wants to exceed expectations. He doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied to present himself as just an adequate witch. He wants to be an exceptional witch.

He blames Oikawa Tooru.

“Do you think he’ll let me shadow him on one of his hunting missions if I ask?”

His best friend and coworker, Watari Shinji, looks up from where he’s checking items off the inventory list. They’re sitting in an aisle of Watari’s family’s clinic and apothecary, going through the boxes that arrived today with supplies to make potions, poultices, and other herbal remedies. Yahaba is eternally grateful to Watari’s family for giving him a part-time job here while he studies for his exam, but on days like today, the freezing rain preventing many from venturing outdoors, he finds himself growing agitated, as his mind jumps from one anxious thought to another.

“Who are we talking about?” Watari asks with a puzzled tilt of his shaved head.

“Oikawa Tooru.” Yahaba refuses to blush as he says his upperclassman’s name. He hasn’t even seen the guy since high school, but he’s followed Oikawa’s track record in the Demon Hunter circles, and he’s just as impressive now as he was back in school, if not more so.

“Why do you want to shadow him?”

“For practical experience! To study him and, um, learn from him.” Yahaba can feel his neck warming against his will, as Watari’s smile turns into a knowing grin. “It’s not what you think! Stop looking at me like that.”

Watari laughs. “I think your crush on him is cute,” he says, making another check on his clipboard, as he leans over the open box between them.

“It’s not a _crush_. I just . . . admire him. He’s one of the best Demon Hunters in the prefecture, and he got that way through hard work and determination, not because he was particularly gifted or anything.”

“And you want to be like him?”

Yahaba rubs the back of his neck. “I’m nowhere near his skill-level, and I doubt I’ll ever be, but . . . it’s something I want to strive for, at least. I mean, I think I can get there, eventually. Maybe.”

Watari grins. “I think you can,” he says encouragingly. “You should ask him about the shadow thing.”

Suddenly, the prospect of actually _calling_ Oikawa and asking him feels incredibly daunting. Will Oikawa even remember him? Probably not. Yahaba will definitely be risking his pride if he goes through with it. “Ah, but he’s probably really busy . . .”

Watari shrugs. “You said yourself it could be good for practical experience.”

At a sudden thought, Yahaba reaches out to grab Watari’s sleeve. “Come with me!”

Watari laughs. “No, no! I couldn’t. I’m studying to be a healer, not a Demon Hunter.” He shakes his head.

Yahaba gives Watari his best pleading eyes. “With how inexperienced I am, I’ll probably need a healer out in the field. I need your support, Shinji!”

Watari tilts his head, a thoughtful look entering his eyes which gives Yahaba hope. “I suppose I could use some practical experience myself,” he muses. “I have some potions I’d like to try out, and this could be the perfect opportunity.”

Yahaba leans back, watching his friend warily. “Potions that you’ve created or potions you’ve made from a recipe?”

“Well . . .”

“Watari, I swear if you turn me into a frog or something from one of your potions, I’ll never forgive you.”

Watari laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry! None of my potions will turn you into anything. Probably.”

“You’re not exactly filling me with confidence, here.”

Watari gives his arm a gentle shove. “It’ll be fine! Just call Oikawa-san.”

It still takes Yahaba two more hours to work up the courage. Oikawa gave out his number to all the younger students when he passed his license exam, telling them if they needed a consultant, he’d be happy to give critiques. Yahaba still has that card, but that was over a year ago, and he isn’t sure if Oikawa even remembers that or if his number is still the same.

He sits at the front desk where he works as the clinic’s receptionist for a long time just staring out of the window at the rain coming down in sheets. Watari moves back and forth through the shelves, stocking the new inventory. He catches Yahaba’s eye at one point and gives him a thumbs up.

Well, it’s now or never, really.

The phone rings only twice before Oikawa answers.

“Yahoo, Yahaba-kun! How nice to hear from one of my precious kouhai!”

Yahaba starts, his back straightening, as he resists the urge to bow. “How do you know who this is?” he asks, too surprised to worry about seeming rude.

“I put the names and numbers of all my kouhai into my phone back before I graduated. I meant it when I said I was available for critiques! Now, what do you need my help with?”

“Um, well, I was actually hoping I, well, we, Watari and I . . . Watari Shinji that is, um, we were wondering if it would be all right for us to shadow you during one of your missions. It doesn’t have to be a big one, just a small one is fine, but, um, my license exam is coming up and I was hoping to get some practical experience and maybe . . . some tips?”

Yahaba hates how young he sounds over the phone, his voice automatically pitching higher. He’s actually serious about this, and he doesn’t want Oikawa to think he’s just another fanboy.

“Ah, so you want to see the magnificent Oikawa Tooru in action, hm? How cute!”

Yahaba grimaces, guessing he failed at the serious part. “I really do want to learn, Oikawa-san,” he insists, consciously using a lower register. “My skillset is nowhere near yours, but I’m a hard worker and—”

“You don’t need to explain,” Oikawa cuts him off airily. “Of course you want to learn from me. I’m the best!” He hums for a moment, and Yahaba waits patiently, wondering if he’s actually considering it. “Well, my partner is unavailable at the moment, and while I could easily take care of this myself, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to use it as a demonstration of sorts. It’s only a Class 4 demon. Meet me at the address I send to you and be sure to bring weapons!”

“I, wait, right now?” Yahaba can feel his heart pounding against his chest. He hasn’t even eaten lunch yet, and Oikawa wants him to go right now into the freezing rain to hunt down and banish a demon?

“Yes, yes, right now! Demons don’t make appointments! Oh, and bring me some milk-bread, I haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

He hangs up, then, leaving Yahaba staring down at his phone, completely dumbfounded. It buzzes a moment later with an address, and he realizes it really _is_ now or never.

“Shit,” he mutters, hopping off his stool and hurrying into the aisles to find Watari.

“He wants us to go _right now_,” he says. “Grab some of your potions and your raincoat.”

Watari blinks. “But . . . who will watch the clinic?”

Yahaba glances around the empty waiting and shopping areas. “I’m sure it’ll be fine for a few minutes?” He knows this is irresponsible, and he could very well lose his job over this, but how many opportunities are there to shadow a Hunter like Oikawa Tooru?

It’s completely out of character for him, at least the character he tries to present himself having, but he can’t deny the thrill going through him, his heart racing with the spike of adrenaline.

“We’ll say we’re going on a lunch break. We were going to have to take one soon anyway,” Yahaba says, going back to the desk to place the “Back in 30 minutes” plaque on top near the sign-in sheet. He hopes it’ll only take thirty minutes, anyway.

“Okay, okay,” Watari says, setting the box in his arms on the ground before hurrying over to his backpack behind the desk. He pulls out a raincoat, putting it on as Yahaba does the same. Once they’re properly attired for the weather, they hurry out of the clinic, the bell jangling behind them.

Immediately the cold hits Yahaba like a smack in the face, and he shivers, gritting his teeth against it. “It’s this way!” he says above the sound of the rain, tugging on Watari’s sleeve and leading the way down the street at a run.

He realizes that he doesn’t have any weapons, which means he’ll have to rely on magic alone. He tries not to think too much about that fact, reminding himself that he’s been training for this for years. He knows hundreds of spells, and he finds himself mentally scrolling through all the fighting ones as he runs, Watari panting beside him.

He sees flashes of gold and red magic in the distance before he hears the sounds of the fight. Lightning illuminates the figures of Oikawa and the demon jumping and spinning at an intersection in the middle of the street, before thunder crashes directly overhead. Yahaba’s feet skid on the slick ground, the rain hardening to sheets of ice as it gathers around the gutters. He swings his arms in an attempt to keep his balance, and Watari grabs a handful of his raincoat, pulling him back onto his feet. Yahaba’s hood falls back, and his head is instantly doused in rain, but he shoots his friend a grateful look, before looking ahead towards the fight.

The demon is dark red with black leathery wings, horns, claws, and a tail that whips around him, striking at Oikawa, who parries with a large knife incased in golden light in one hand, while the other holds a pistol. As he knocks the tail aside, he aims and shoots at the demon, but it leaps in the air, using its wings to move out of range and then land behind Oikawa, kicking his hand and sending the pistol spinning off down the street.

Yahaba scrambles to think of how he can assist, even as he continues forward. In lieu of physical weapons, he’s going to have to conjure something out of magic. Would a sword be best? Or since he’s still at a distance, maybe a javelin would be better. Concentrating, he comes to a stop a few feet away from the fight, muttering the spell and watching as his magic gathers in his hands and lengthens, solidifying into a golden javelin, sharp at one end. Leaning back, he aims and throws it as hard as he can.

It skims the edge of the demon’s wing, and Yahaba curses under his breath, as it turns around to glare at him and Watari. This gives Oikawa enough time to stab it in the back, however, and it screeches in pain, spinning back around to lash out at Oikawa with his claws. Oikawa leaps back, avoiding the hit but leaving his knife behind. It sticks out of the demon’s back, between his wings, but it doesn’t pay it any mind, charging instead at the unarmed Oikawa, who quickly draws another knife from his belt.

Yahaba furrows his brow, conjuring up another weapon with a quick spell. This one is a longsword, and it flickers briefly before solidifying. Despite the icy rain soaking his head and dripping down his back, he feels sweat gathering on his forehead. It’s taking more energy than he thought it would to keep the sword dense enough to use, but even so he runs forward, leaping with a yell to slam the sword down through the demon’s left wing. It falls away, black blood spraying from the wound, and it screeches again, turning from Oikawa to smack Yahaba across the chest with its claw. Yahaba doesn’t dodge in time, and he feels the blow hit him like a truck.

With a grunt, he finds himself flying back against a car parked by the curb, tumbling over its hood to land on the sidewalk. The car’s siren begins to wail, piercing through his head, and he grimaces, losing concentration, and the sword dissipates.

“Yahaba!” Watari rushes forward, dropping to his knees in a puddle beside him. His fingers are trembling, as he yanks his backpack off and searches through it. “Are you hurt? I have healing stones . . .”

Yahaba pushes himself up from the ground, wincing at the pain that burns across his chest. Looking down, he sees red mixed with the yellow of his raincoat, the colors swirling together in a haze. He shakes his head to clear it, blinking the water from his eyes, and sees that one of the demon’s claws has ripped into the front of his coat and nicked his skin.

“It’s fine!” Yahaba assures Watari, grabbing his hand to stop his rummaging. “It’s just a scratch!”

He moves to stand and tilts to one side. Watari grabs him before he falls, and he shakes his head again, trying to brush away the dizziness that’s overcome him. The world feels like it’s shifting back and forth, like the storm is tossing it about, and a dull burn and numbness spreads from his chest toward his limbs and face.

“I-I think . . . it might’ve been poisoned,” he says, or tries to at least. His lips feel frozen, but he can’t tell if that’s from the rain or not.

Watari goes white. “Okay, okay, hang on, I have a potion!”

With one arm still wrapped around him to hold him up, Watari searches his backpack. His hand retracts gripping a small vial, and he quickly pops the cork, dumping the contents into Yahaba’s mouth. It tastes like shit, but Yahaba swallows it anyway. After a few seconds, he feels the numbness begin to subside, feeling returning to his face, arms, and legs. His teeth chatter violently, and he can see Watari isn’t faring much better.

“C-c-can you st-st-stand?” he asks.

“Y-y-yeah.”

Yahaba nods, pushing himself up with Watari’s support. Looking over the wailing car, he watches Oikawa deal the final blow to the demon, his second magic infused knife plunging deep into its chest. With a wail, the demon bursts into tiny black particles, banished from this dimension and returning to its own. Yahaba sags against Watari’s side, feeling shame warm his cheeks.

His first battle against a demon, and he was absolutely pathetic.

Oikawa looks around, flicking his hair out of his eyes. When he spots them, he jogs over, looking only slightly out of breath.

“Well! That was quite the experience. Are you okay?” He grins, but Yahaba can see his shoulders quivering, probably from the cold.

“Y-yeah. W-Watari had a p-p-poison antidote,” he admits.

“I would’ve told you to watch out for the claws, but you rushed in so quickly, Yahaba-kun!”

Yahaba stares at the sidewalk, sniffling. Oikawa claps his hands together.

“I’m absolutely miserable out here! Let’s go get some hot cocoa and try ourselves off.”

He gestures for the two to follow him, and Watari grabs his backpack to fling it back over his shoulder. He peers up at Yahaba, concern written all over his face. Yahaba swallows down the lump in his throat and pretends he doesn’t see it, walking forward stiffly to follow Oikawa.

He leads them into the nearest café that’s open, the inside warm and inviting despite the lack of patrons. Turning toward the two behind him, Oikawa waves his hand and casts a spell. Hot wind erupts from the air around them, drying them all off within a few minutes. Yahaba can tell his hair is sticking up wildly because Oikawa’s is, though he quickly brushes it back down with his fingers, preening in the nearest reflective surface for a few minutes before walking toward the registers.

Watari leads the way over to a booth in the corner, and Yahaba sits down beside him. A hard knot has formed in his stomach, and he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to drink anything, but he takes the proffered hot cocoa from his upperclassman when Oikawa returns with three steaming mugs piled high with whipped cream.

“Thank you very much,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around it and letting the warmth seep into his palms.

Watari echoes his sentiment in a brighter voice, doing the same.

“So! Where’s my milk-bread?” Oikawa asks, sitting down across the table and glancing between the two of them.

Yahaba’s face feels hot. “I . . . I didn’t realize you were serious. I’m sorry.”

“I’m always serious about milk-bread,” Oikawa says, taking a sip of his drink. It gives him a whipped cream mustache, but Yahaba refrains from saying anything. Setting the mug down, he ends up wiping it off anyway before leaning forward to regard him carefully.

“You’re probably thinking right now, ‘I’m a failure because I got knocked down almost right away and couldn’t help my senpai defeat the demon like I wanted to,’ is that right?”

Yahaba wants to melt into the booth and disappear. “Something like that,” he admits.

“Yahaba-kun, was this your first fight?”

Yahaba nods. “I guess that’s pretty obvious.”

“Do you know what you did wrong?” Oikawa sits back enough to take another sip of his drink, this time he licks some of the whipped cream off the top before doing so.

Yahaba thinks over the encounter. He can think of a lot of things he did wrong, and he’s not entirely sure what Oikawa’s looking for, exactly. “I didn’t give you time to brief me on anything, and I yelled before I hit him, which alerted him to my presence and gave him more time to react. I wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way of his attack, either.”

Oikawa hums thoughtfully, tapping his finger against the side of his mug. Watari slurps down some of his cocoa but doesn’t say anything. Yahaba continues to stare down at the table between him and Oikawa, the knot in his stomach tightening.

“You have good instincts, Yahaba-kun, you’re just inexperienced as to how to use them. You’ve never been in combat before, so it’s understandable that you wouldn’t know how to attack and make split-second decisions. What you should have done before you even swung your blade was put up a ward of magic to shield you against his reaction. There’s no pre-planning on the battlefield; you have to be so used to anticipating your opponent’s moves that it becomes second-nature to you.”

Yahaba nods, filing that away in his memory to write down later. He wishes he had a pad and a pencil now, but in his haste he didn’t bring any supplies at all. Another mark against him.

“Now! You did a really good job in how you attacked him. Cutting off his wing kept him grounded and made it easier for me to finish him off. When you work with a partner, you have to keep in mind how each of your actions affects them during the fight. You gave me an edge I didn’t have before! So good job!”

Yahaba lifts his head, meeting Oikawa’s gaze now. He looks very much like a self-important professor praising a clueless student, all puffed up pride and magnanimous smile. But there’s sincerity too, behind his eyes, and Yahaba feels the knot loosen slightly.

“Thank you, Oikawa-san,” he says, bowing his head respectfully before finally lifting his mug to drink. Most of the whipped cream has melted by now, but it’s good and sweet and the warmth travels down his throat and melts away some of the tension inside of him. “I understand. I’ll work on it.”

Oikawa taps his chin. “It’ll probably be good for you to find a partner to practice sparring with. I’ll try to think of someone to send your way.”

Yahaba shakes his head. “You don’t have to do all that. You’ve already done so much.” He grimaces inwardly at the thought of becoming any sort of burden on Oikawa.

Oikawa waves off his concern. “It’s nothing. Just be sure to mention me as your wise and helpful sensei if anyone asks you how you became such a good Demon Hunter.” He winks and takes a big swig of his cocoa, probably in an attempt to look cool, though he only succeeds in burning the roof of his mouth with a wince and a hiss.

Even so, Yahaba feels encouraged. None of this went the way he’d hoped, but he learned something, something he can actually apply to his training and studies. He knows now what he has to work on, and the prospect of Oikawa finding him a partner excites him.

“I wonder who he’ll pick,” Yahaba says to Watari, as they walk home (this time under the temporary umbrella Oikawa managed to get them from the barista with a smile and a few compliments). “Probably someone from our year, right?”

“I’m just glad he didn’t pick me,” Watari admits. “You’re my best friend, and I support you, but holy shit that was terrifying. I don’t think I can do anything like that again.” He shakes his head.

Yahaba nudges him gently. “Thanks for being there, though. I might’ve died if you hadn’t come with me.”

Watari’s eyes widened. “Don’t even joke about that!” he exclaims.

Yahaba smiles and drapes his arm across Watari’s shoulders. “Don’t worry! I don’t plan on going into any more fights without proper planning.”

Watari nods, relieved, and as they return to the store, Yahaba finds himself running through possible strategies in his head for next time.

He looks forward to it.

* * *

Iwaizumi Hajime is not suited to be a house husband. It’s not that he minds the chores or the cooking (he’s gotten pretty good at making meals these past few months), but he simply doesn’t have enough to do during the day and that leads to boredom. There’s only so many times he can dust the furniture and sweep the floors, and while there’s always an abundance of shows and movies he can watch, sitting in front of the TV feels too much like laziness, to him. Even though he still works out daily (as much as he can around the house), whenever he binge-watches anything he starts to feel like he’s becoming one with the couch, and it’s not a pleasant feeling.

Ever since Kenma and Kuroo became demon hunting partners and got their own place three months ago, Iwaizumi has been restless. He misses Kenma’s company, for one, but more than that he misses hunting. The thrill of the chase, the excitement of the battle, the pride in the victory . . . all that is gone, now.

Now, he has to stay indoors all by himself and wait for Oikawa to return from his missions.

Which, again, he doesn’t _mind_ it. He’d do anything for Oikawa and keeping his house clean and preparing meals for him takes very little effort on his part. He’s just starting to feel somewhat like a caged animal, pacing back and forth for days on end. He’s even started _reading_, something Oikawa teases him mercilessly for, but what else is there to do?

He can’t risk getting caught by The House of the White Rose. Not after stealing their portal stone. He knows it’s likely they’ve just created another by now, but that doesn’t mean they still don’t wish to punish him for his treason. The scar on his forehead, the one they gave him that reads “Traitor,” is a constant reminder of how they treat those they deem unfaithful.

He has no idea what they’ll do to him if they find him, so laying low makes sense. It’s practical, logical. He only wishes he knew how long is long enough. He used to be Oikawa’s partner in everything. Inside _and_ outside the home. He had Oikawa’s back in battle, made sure he never pushed himself past his limit, kept him _safe_. Now he just feels useless.

“Iwa-chan isn’t useless!” Oikawa exclaims one night when Iwaizumi expresses this emotion. “You feed me and do my laundry and clean house and make sure I have milk-bread stocked—”

Iwaizumi groans and presses his hands over his face. “Ugh, you make me sound like your _mom_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t have sex with my mom.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “I would _hope_ not.”

“MY POINT IS,” Oikawa raises his voice over him, “you shouldn’t worry so much. Everything you do here helps me. So stop being so insecure. It’s very un-Iwa-chan-like.” He reaches over to pinch Iwaizumi’s arm gently.

Iwaizumi knows he’s right. Insecurity doesn’t come upon him frequently, but he’s usually confident in where he is and what he’s doing. Lately, though, with everything feeling so unbalanced, he can’t help but stare in the mirror some days and wonder.

_What kind of partner am I?_

The February rain finally subsides, and with it comes an unexpected visitor. Iwaizumi’s in the middle of his morning work-out routine when he hears a tentative knock on the door. For a moment he contemplates leaving it. Oikawa’s already left for an early mission, and Iwaizumi is technically not supposed to answer the door to anyone, just in case. But the knock comes again, more rapidly this time, and he can’t help but feel like it must be important.

Wiping the sweat from his face with a towel, he walks over to the door and opens it, slinging the towel around his neck. The cool morning air hits his warm skin like a slap, and the face of the young man in front of him looks as though he’s received the same treatment from Iwaizumi. His eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open from above his thick scarf.

“I-Iwaizumi-senpai! You’re here?!”

Iwaizumi frowns slightly, staring at kid and trying to remember why he looks so familiar. He takes in the tall shallot-shaped hair, the lanky limbs that haven’t quite filled out enough to not look awkward, and the hands and feet still slightly too big. The earnest admiration in his dark eyes is familiar too, and after looking into them a moment the name comes to him.

“_Kindaichi_?”

“Yes!” Kindaichi bows quickly. “Oh, wow, Ito-san said you were probably dead, but others said you might be living here with Oikawa Tooru . . .”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth at the mention of Ito Masaru, the head of the House of the White Roses’ Coven Council. That man is responsible for the scar on his forehead, and indirectly the scar on his forearm, as well. He can see Kindaichi peering at said scars now, and he sighs, taking a step back and opening the door wider.

“Come in out of the cold. I’ll make some tea.”

Kindaichi nods, stepping past the threshold and bowing again. “Sorry for intruding!”

Iwaizumi shuts the door behind him, as Kindaichi bends to unlace his boots. While he does that and removes his coat, scarf, earmuffs, and gloves, Iwaizumi makes his way over to the kitchen to prepare a kettle.

“You can have a seat,” he calls over from his place at the stove, wondering what in the world his underclassman is doing here. Being so much younger, they were never in the same class, but Iwaizumi helped train some of the young students after he obtained his license, in between missions. Back then, Ito had expressed admiration for Iwaizumi’s strength and wanted him to impart his knowledge and wisdom onto those students still unburdened by the weight of their responsibility to the coven.

Iwaizumi never sang praises of the House of the White Rose like some of the other trainers, but he did his best to give the kids practical advice and demonstrations on how to fight. He hoped that when the time came for their assignments in Hinokoku, something he told them would help with their survival.

As he comes back into the living room with the tea, he notices now the scar on the side of Kindaichi’s face, running from above his left eyebrow down to his cheekbone, narrowly missing his eye. He swallows hard and doesn’t comment on it. He still has nightmares about his time in Hinokoku. The kid doesn’t need to relive that now.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks, after Kindaichi sips his tea and continues to look around without saying anything.

“Oh!” Kindaichi flushes pink, turning his gaze back to Iwaizumi. “Um, well, I was expecting Oikawa-san but . . . it’s actually better if I talk to you, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

Iwaizumi nods for him to continue.

Kindaichi huffs softly, lowering his hand and looking down into his tea. “It’s my friend . . . my best friend. Kunimi Akira. He . . . his birthday is coming up. March 25. He’ll be eighteen.”

“Ah,” Iwaizumi understands, now. This Kunimi will be taking his Hinokoku assignment once he turns eighteen. Kindaichi must be here for advice for his friend. “Well, it isn’t easy, as I’m sure you know, but what I found—”

“Actually,” Kindaichi interrupts with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not here for advice.”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Kindaichi inhales sharply. “I don’t want him to go. At all. I want the Hinokoku trials to stop.” He bites his lip, hesitating before pushing forward all in one breath, “IwanttostoptheHinokokutrialsandIneedyourhelp.”

Iwaizumi blinks, wondering if he heard that right. “You . . . want my help to _stop_ the trials? Like, forever?”

Kindaichi nods, swallowing hard. Leaning forward, he sets his cup down on the kotatsu. “I know there’s already a petition being discussed among the other coven councils for the House of the White Rose to be disbanded because of the trials, but things aren’t going to change soon enough, if they even change at all! Kunimi-kun gets sent there in a _month_. I have to stop them before that!”

Iwaizumi stares, his brain feeling somewhat like a record scratch, repeating the same line over and over again. _Stop the Hinokoku trial? Is it even possible?_ He attempted to stop them before, by stealing the portal pendant they used to transport their young witch students into the Hell dimension, but others can be made, and he knew at the time he was probably only delaying the inevitable.

To stop them all together . . . that will take much more than simple theft.

“I have a plan,” Kindaichi continues when Iwaizumi doesn’t protest. “Or, well, the start of one anyway. That’s why I need your help. I don’t know how exactly I prove this, but the House of the White Rose . . . they’ve been making contracts with demons for _years_. All in secret. They keep the demons as servants or slaves or bodyguards or-or even use their magic to strengthen their own. If the other coven councils find out White Rose members are working with demons, they’ll _have_ to expedite the petition and take it more seriously. I just . . . need to get proof somehow . . .”

This revelation doesn’t shock Iwaizumi as much as it probably should. He’s known his whole life that the House of the White Rose is obsessed with power and being the best. It _does_ surprise him that some members would taint their precious pure magical auras with demon magic, but maybe they believe the end justifies the means.

“I was going to ask Oikawa-san for help . . . because I knew he’d probably want to get back at them for what they did to you . . .” Kindaichi’s eyes travel toward Iwaizumi’s forehead before they quickly look back down, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “But it’ll be more convincing coming from you.”

Before Iwaizumi can further contemplate all of this, the door bursts open. Kindaichi jumps nearly a foot in the air, twisting around and almost falling off the couch. Oikawa saunters into the house, barely looking at Kindaichi, as he addresses Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan~ Look who I found sleeping behind our garbage cans! He keeps saying your name like it’s the only one he knows. Care to explain?” He arches one eyebrow.

Iwaizumi stares blankly at him. “What the hell are you talking about, Asskawa?” he asks, his heart pounding way too quickly in his chest from the sudden intrusion.

Oikawa gestures to the side, but when he looks and sees nobody is there, he sighs and walks over to the doorway. “Well? Come inside already. You’re letting all the cold air in!”

“You’re the one who slammed the door wide open,” Iwaizumi reminds him, even as he stands to see the newcomer.

His breath catches in his throat, as he watches a dirty young man step into the house, his deep-set eyes scanning the vicinity like he’s waiting for something to jump out at him. He’s painfully thin, and the clothes he’s wearing look like he dug them out of the dumpster, not at all weather-appropriate and hanging on him in all the wrong ways. The short hair on his head is a golden-yellow, with two black stripes wrapping around the sides above his ears.

“Kyouken?” he says in astonishment.

Kyouken’s eyes snap onto him. They widen slightly, and he leaps over the couch in a single bound, causing Kindaichi to fall back with a small shriek. He nearly trips over the kotatsu, but he catches himself in time to reach Iwaizumi without knocking him down. His fingers are freezing, as he grabs the back of Iwaizumi’s head and pushes their foreheads together, so close that their noses touch. His other hand moves to grip the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, and he’s trembling all over.

“Shit,” Iwaizumi mutters, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “How did you . . . how are you even here?”

“Iwaizumi,” is all Kyouken says, his voice thick.

“Iwa-chan, have you been cheating on me with a homeless person?” Oikawa asks mildly from the door, which he’s closed now.

Iwaizumi resists the urge to roll his eyes. Taking Kyouken’s arms gently in his hands, he holds him still, as he steps to the side to address the others. Oikawa’s watching him with his “I-haven’t-decided-if-I’m-actually-mad-at-you-or-not-yet-so-be-careful-what-you-say” face, whereas Kindaichi still looks completely terrified.

“This is Kyouken,” Iwaizumi explains. “He’s a Hell Hound from Hinokoku. I met him while I was there . . . the first time.”

“A _Hell Hound_?” Kindaichi repeats in a small voice.

Oikawa’s expression relaxes, and he pastes on his charming smile for when he wants to make others like him. “Oh! _Kyouken_!” He steps around the couch and lifts his hand in a way that isn’t clear if he wants Kyouken to shake it or kiss it. “I’ve heard _so_ much about you. You must’ve heard about me, too. I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

Kyouken looks at Oikawa’s hand as though it’s a snake about to bite him. He leans away from it, stepping back behind Iwaizumi slightly. Iwaizumi slaps Oikawa’s hand down.

“Don’t be obnoxious,” he says, shaking his head.

He looks from Kindaichi to Oikawa to Kyouken and then back again. He has no idea what to do, now. He’s still reeling from Kindaichi’s request and the dangers it presents, and now he’s got a filthy Hell Hound looking at him like he’s expecting _something_, and Iwaizumi has no idea what that could be.

He’s relieved to see him alive, though he doesn’t exactly look _well_. But he can’t take care of a Hell Hound and help Kindaichi take down a powerful coven such as The House of the White Rose at the same time. He can feel a headache starting to form, as the corner of his eye twitches.

Oikawa must tell he’s starting to have some kind of inner meltdown, because he claps his hands to get Kindaichi and Kyouken’s attention.

“Right! Okay!” He turns first to Kindaichi, pointing at him. “You! What’s your name?”

Kindaichi starts. “K-Kindaichi Yuutarou!”

“Kindaichi-kun, clean up this tea and put it away in the kitchen, will you?”

“Um, yes!” Kindaichi hurries to do so, being as careful as he can with the china while still moving quickly.

Oikawa turns to Kyouken, who again rears back, regarding him suspiciously. “You,” Oikawa points. “You need a bath. It’s two doors down to the left. Turn the knob for the water and feel free to use any of the products in the black containers.”

Iwaizumi frowns slightly, as those are his, but he doesn’t protest and nods for Kyouken to go ahead when he hesitates. He watches him walk away, making sure he enters the right room, before turning to Oikawa, who’s watching him closely.

“I . . . thanks,” he says, rubbing his forehead wearily. “That all just happened really fast.”

Oikawa takes his hand, leading him to the side away from where Kindaichi is attempting to mop up a spill. Iwaizumi only notices then that Oikawa’s favoring his right leg. He frowns.

“What did you do?” he asks, pointing to it.

Oikawa glances down briefly before waving him off. “Nothing, nothing, it’s fine. We need to talk about what’s going on here! Who is Kindaichi Yuutarou and why were you giving him tea on our couch? Which he spilled on, by the way. Mom is going to throw a fit.”

“He wants my help in taking down The House of the White Rose.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen, and Iwaizumi gives him as brief a summary of Kindaichi’s idea as he can. By the end, Oikawa’s tapping on his cheek, gazing off over Iwaizumi’s shoulder in thought.

“It’s not a _bad_ plan, really. It just needs some finesse. I can help with that, of course.”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi mutters.

“But that won’t really give us much time to take care of Kyouken. Adorable name, by the way, it fits him perfectly!”

Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck, not about to admit that he named Kyouken as such because he thought Oikawa would call him that. “Yeah, I mean, he’s pretty harmless, but he’s not going to know anything about how to pass as a human. Someone’s going to need to look after him.”

Oikawa snaps his fingers. “I know just the person!”

Iwaizumi’s about to ask who, when Kindaichi stumbles back over. “Done! I’m sorry I spilled some on your couch, Oikawa-san. I-I can pay!”

Oikawa waves him off. “Don’t mind! Tell me more about this idea to take down The House of the White Rose.”

He users Kindaichi back over to the couch, flipping the seat cushion with the stain over so it’s not visible. While the two of them discuss what Kindaichi already told Iwaizumi, he makes his way over to the bathroom. The door is partly open, steam escaping through the crack. He knocks lightly on the door as he slips inside.

“Hey . . . how’s it going in here?”

He waves away some steam in front of his eyes, stepping closer until he can see Kyouken sitting in the tub, hunched down so only his eyes are visible above the water. He slowly sits up more when Iwaizumi approaches, watching him silently.

“So, uh, it’s fine for you to stay here while you get back up on your feet. We have plenty of food, and you can borrow some of my clothes,” Iwaizumi says, trying not to feel too awkward talking to someone in the bath while he stands there looking down at them, fully clothed. He shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels some. “You have to promise you won’t shift into your Hound form when other people are around, though. If you’re going to live here in this dimension, you’re going to have to act human . . . as best you can. Do you think you can do that?”

Kyouken doesn’t reply, simply continues staring with that permanent frown of his. Iwaizumi can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s contemplating what to say next, when Kyouken suddenly stands from the water. Iwaizumi adverts his gaze automatically, but he turns back when he catches a flash of red in his periphery. He frowns, taking a step forward to get a better look.

There are multiple wounds across Kyouken’s body, some more healed than others. Angry red gashes curve over his thighs, hips, ribs, and shoulders. There are some across his chest and arms, and he guesses there are probably some on his back, too. There are scars, as well, more than there were when Iwaizumi first met him, beneath the new injuries.

“_Shit_,” Iwaizumi breathes, his chest aching.

Kyouken glances down at himself, reaching up to touch one of the marks on his chest. He shrugs then, looking away.

“No, don’t dismiss them,” Iwaizumi says quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not right. None of that should’ve happened to you. I-I . . . I’m so sorry.” His words catch in his throat, as his eyes burn. He left him there. For four years, he didn’t spare more than a passing thought to Kyouken, a brief wish that he might be okay. He didn’t go back for him. Even when he’d gone there with Kenma that week he hid from The House of the White Rose, they didn’t make it back into Malikra’s territory.

He should have gone back.

“Wait, wait right here,” he says, holding up a hand and quickly leaving the bathroom. He hurries into the bedroom, to the drawer where he keeps some of his hunting supplies. There are three purple healing stones glowing gently among the knives and ammunition. He grabs all of them, making his way back to find Kyouken in the exact same position where he left him.

Inhaling sharply, he steps forward, pausing to roll up the legs of his jeans, before stepping into the bathtub. The hot water causes him to hiss briefly, but he stands directly in front of Kyouken, and holds all three stones against his chest. Kyouken flinches at first contact, but then he grows still, waiting patiently, as Iwaizumi casts the spell to release the healing magic from the stones.

Golden light spirals out from beneath his hand, covering Kyouken from shoulders to ankles. They swirl around him, and the gashes begin to close, new skin growing to mend the tears. After a few minutes of standing there, all of Kyouken’s open wounds have healed, and Iwaizumi lowers the now black stones, drained of magic, and tosses them to the side.

“I should’ve gone back for you,” he says solemnly, looking into Kyouken’s eyes. “But you’re safe now. I promise. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again.”

Kyouken studies his face, eyes searching. Finally, he huffs softly, leaning forward to knock his forehead gently against Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi presses back briefly before pulling away to get out of the tub.

“I’ll be back with some clothes,” he says, slipping out of the door. He sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, doing his best to ignore the guilt that’s still gripped tightly around his chest. He inhales deeply to try and loosen it, but it only abates slightly. He slips back into the bedroom, wondering what exactly Oikawa and Kindaichi are planning. Deciding they’ll fetch him when they need his input, he figures he can use this time to get Kyouken accustomed to human clothes.

His stomach growls.

_Ah, and human food._

* * *

It’s past midnight. Hanamaki doesn’t have a clock to read, but he can tell. His Master always finishes up around midnight, and it’s been quite a while since he left. Clutching his sore arm, Hanamaki crawls over to the single pillow inside his cage, spinning around a couple times before settling down in a comfortable enough position. The pillow is too small for him, but he’s gotten used to being cramped. The cage isn’t large, either; there’s barely enough room to stretch his legs, let alone stand. He has to remain seated if he wants to avoid touching the bars. They’re coated with magic that stings his skin whenever he brushes against them. He learned that the hard way.

With a sigh, he settles down into the pillow, carefully flexing his arm, as his fingers press against the injection spot, staunching the bleeding until his body heals.

He really should’ve expected the experimentation, when Kunimi Rui first summoned him to make the contract. At the time, he only pledged his loyalty to the family, to watch over and protect them, and lend them his magic when they ask. It wasn’t so bad, at first. But then his son, Kunimi Eiji, took that last clause to mean he can use Hanamaki’s body however he likes to learn more about his demon magic. Hanamaki can’t stop him without breaking the contract, so here he is, stuck inside this basement study every night after the family goes to bed.

Akira wouldn’t approve, Hanamaki’s sure of that, but he’s spared the kid the more painful details of his contract. There’s not much he’d be able to do anyway.

As he lies there, he lets his mind drift. He goes back, years back, to his own dimension. To Kouriki and its icy mountains; the fields of snow and bare, gnarled trees with bark red as blood. He has a home there, a cave, cut deep into one of those mountains. It’s not much. He certainly doesn’t have as much access to entertainment and frivolities like he does here. But it was all he knew for the majority of his life. Hatched in a blizzard and set to train for a position in the king’s army, he worked hard to earn his place. He never saw the fruits of his labor, before he was whisked away to a summoning circle in this very basement.

The bleeding has stopped. Hanamaki lifts his hand away, and takes a peek at the healed skin, licking the dark purple blood from his fingertips. Closing his eyes again, he reaches out with his mind, gliding along the tethers he’s created throughout his time here. He checks on Akira first, out of habit. One glimpse into his mind, though, reveals he’s currently busy fantasizing about that lanky friend of his. Hanamaki quickly pulls away from that. He does respect _some_ boundaries. Besides, watching Akira’s virgin wet dreams makes him feel kind of pervy. He’s practically Hanamaki’s little brother, after all.

His thoughts wander to the day the Kunimis brought the infant Akira home. He’d never seen a human baby before. At least, not so up close and personal. Eiji had already been a toddler when Rui summoned him. He was fascinated with rapid growth of Akira’s human form and how intelligent the child was, even from a young age. He’s felt a sense of pride at the kid’s accomplishments over the years, almost like he’s his own. He certainly cares more for Akira than his own parents seem to.

He thinks of their harsh mannerisms, the way they always frown upon any semblance of emotion from their son. It’s stifling, suffocating, to be in the same room as them sometimes. Most of the time. But he can usually get away with leaving to run some sort of errand. He can’t imagine how Akira must feel being trapped beneath their judgmental gaze day in and day out.

These aren’t peaceful thoughts. Hanamaki shakes his head to clear it. He doesn’t want to think about the Kunimis. He’s much more interested in that tall, dark and handsome glass of water that comes by the house every weekday.

Matsukawa Issei.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Hanamaki’s lips. He recalls expression on Matsukawa’s face when he saw Hanamaki’s demon form for the first time. In a word: hilarious. His eyes grew so wide, his caterpillar eyebrows jumped to his hairline, and his mouth with those full lips dropped open, and Hanamaki remembers how his gaze lingered on his tail. He didn’t scream or quit on the spot, like Hanamaki expected. Instead, after staring for what felt like hours, he simply turned to Kunimi and introduced the lesson, like it wasn’t actually a big deal at all.

What an intriguing human he is. Hanamaki knew in an instant that he wanted him.

Now if he can only convince Matsukawa to actually _be_ with him. Being a member of the House of the White Rose meant he grew up with a bias against demons, initial attraction be damned.

_Even as they summon us and drain us for our magic, they hate us. Fear us. As well they should, I suppose._

Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, he reaches out further, using his magic to boost his signal. Thankfully, Matsukawa doesn’t live far, only the next block over. He slips into the man’s mind effortlessly, months of practice making the connection seamless. It’s even easier when Hanamaki chooses this time, as the man drifts between sleep and wakefulness. With some concentration, he conjures a room, not unlike the study upstairs, and places Matsukawa at the kotatsu across from him, still wearing his pajamas covered in bananas, because they’re cute.

Matsukawa blinks at him for a moment in confusion before realization relaxes his features. He sighs. “Again?”

“You know you love my late-night visits,” Hanamaki says with a grin, setting his elbows on top of the kotatsu, his chin in his hands. His tail flicks back and forth in the air behind him, though he’s wearing an especially gaudy pair of bright blue pants and a deep purple sweater that’s just big enough to give him sweater paws. He’s pretty sure he looks fucking adorable, though it’s difficult to tell what Matsukawa thinks behind his sleepy eyes.

He nudges deeper just in case, to see if he can tell, but Matsukawa’s wards are strong enough to keep him at bay, now that he knows what Hanamaki is doing. How irritating.

“What have you come to rant about this time? The Transformer movies?”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “I just don’t understand how _Bumblebee_ can be so much better than the others! I mean, what have they even been _doing_ with that Even Stevens kid?!”

Matsukawa shakes his head. “I really don’t get the appeal of any of those films.” He stifles a yawn.

“You’re especially tired tonight,” Hanamaki observes, waving his hand over the kotatsu table to make some taiyaki appear on a plate between them. He grabs one to munch on, even if he can’t taste things in this dream world, he can pretend.

“Ah, I was up late trying to think of ways to keep Akira-kun motivated,” Matsukawa admits, reaching for a taiyaki. “He doesn’t seem to have much self-preservation.”

Hanamaki hums. “You’d be surprised how much self-preservation kicks in when you’re staring death in the face,” he comments idly.

Matsukawa gives him a keen look. “You speak from experience? One of these days you’re going to have to tell me about what you did back in your dimension.”

“I’m flattered you want to know so much about me, Mattsun,” Hanamaki grins.

“Don’t read so much into it. It’s just idle curiosity.” Matsukawa takes a bite out of the taiyaki before making a face. “This tastes like nothing.”

“That’s because it’s not real,” Hanamaki offers helpfully.

Matsukawa gives him a look. “You’re hilarious,” he deadpans.

“I know I am~”

Matsukawa just shakes his head, setting down the taikyaki and leaning back on his hands as he studies the ceiling. “It’s impressive,” he admits, glancing around. “It looks exactly like the Kunimis’ study.”

“I can do a lot more than this,” Hanamaki says, snapping his fingers to change the scene. Everything around them fades into swirls of color with a backdrop of white, like paint dissolving in water.

With another snap, he forms shapes out of the colors, and they solidify to resemble one of the guest bedrooms in the large Kunimi home. It’s a modest room with minimal furniture, as Hanamaki doesn’t spare much thought to the details. He focuses on the most important one: the bed.

He has Matsukawa reclined against it, and in another instant he’s straddling the man’s hips, gripping a handful of his pajama shirt. Matsukawa’s eyes widen, and a flush rises on his cheeks. Hanamaki smirks, gratified by this reaction. But the next second, Matsukawa grabs his waist and deposits him on the bed beside him, standing and straightening out his shirt.

“No, not happening,” he says, shaking his head.

Hanamaki falls back against the mattress with a small bounce, arms outstretched. “Don’t be such a buzzkill, Mattsun!” He sits up on his elbows, head cocked to the side. “You know you want this.” He gestures to his prone body with a smirk.

Matsukawa pointedly looks away. “Absolutely not,” he says. “Your antics are amusing, I’ll admit, but you’re still a demon.”

Hanamaki hates the way his chest tightens at the words. He falls back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Demon, shemon. Who’s going to know? We’re just in your mind. You wouldn’t even really be _doing_ anything.”

Matsukawa doesn’t respond. When Hanamaki looks down the length of the bed at him, he’s still faced away, hand clenched at his side.

“We’ve been dancing around this thing for the better part of a year, now,” Hanamaki says, hopping up onto his feet. He places himself in front of Matsukawa with another snap, peering up into his face, trying to read his expression. The man simply turns away again, forcing Hanamaki to make an actual circle around him, as he tries to catch his gaze.

“There’s no thing. We don’t have a thing,” Matsukawa insists.

“There’s totally a thing. You’re just in denial.” Hanamaki grabs his arm, stopping the spinning before either of them can get dizzy. “You like me. You know you do.”

“You’re entertaining. I like observing you. It’s totally different.”

“Yeah, sure, I’m entertaining, funny, adorable, hot . . . I’m a lot of things, Matsukawa. I’m not _just_ a demon, you know.”

The atmosphere is much too serious in here, much too tense. It makes Hanamaki’s hackles rise, his skin itch, and he releases Matsukawa to hop back a step, holding his hands out to the side with a grin.

“But I guess that doesn’t matter when you’re a hoity-toity expensive magic tutor from the House of the White Rose, huh?” he asks with a wide, mocking grin.

“I think you should go now. I need to sleep.” Matsukawa still won’t look at him, and Hanamaki hates it. He hates this. This isn’t their dynamic, their easy banter, their casual flirting. This is something harsh and cold and it forms a lead ball in his stomach.

“Fine, I’ll go.” Hanamaki sets his hands on his hips. “But you’re just going to see me tomorrow anyway, you know. You won’t be able to use sleep as a deterrent, then.”

“Goodnight, Hanamaki-san.”

Hanamaki feels a push against his mind, and he slips out of Matsukawa’s head reluctantly. He’s back in his cage, then, listening to the slow drip of water from a leak near the corner of the room. He sighs, folding his arms over his eyes and cursing the stubborn human who takes up way too much room in Hanamaki’s heart.

He really never meant to fall for him. It’s ridiculous. Laughable, really. But he looks at Matsukawa, at his droopy eyes and lazy smile, and his chest feels suddenly too small, and all he wants to do is see those eyes look at him and know that smile is because of him, forever.

“Stupid humans,” he mutters.

Really, they’re all more trouble than they’re worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really sleepy when I edited this, so please forgive any errors!
> 
> I'm excited for this one . . .
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/
> 
> cover art by Lissa @ichigomaniac on twitter


	2. Adding the Fuel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: hanamaki's pov includes a very brief instance of medical torture in this chapter. if this is triggering for you, please stop at "Unfortunately, that night finds" and CTRL/Command + F to "After this, he walks out".

It really shouldn’t be so easy to escape the house unnoticed. Kunimi’s favorite game as a child was hide and seek, because he could fall asleep wherever he hid and take a nap while his friends searched for him. He got very good at hiding in small spaces with little lighting, making it incredibly difficult to find him. Once, Kindaichi got so anxious over losing him, he started crying and brought all the adults over to see what was wrong. Kunimi teased him mercilessly about that.

But whenever he got Hanamaki to play with him, the game became decidedly less fun. The demon had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly where Kunimi was at all times, possibly thanks to the contract, or maybe because he was telepathic, which meant he often found Kunimi well before he could drift off to sleep. Kunimi stopped forcing Hanamaki to play with him after this happened a couple times, which, Kunimi thinks now, may have been Hanamaki’s goal in the first place.

Hanamaki must _really_ be into Matsukawa if he doesn’t even notice when Kunimi slips out the back door. He doesn’t stop him, at least, which Kunimi figures amounts to the same thing, seeing as he’s supposed to be studying. He leaves the two arguing over the benefits of convincing him to join a sport to make training more fun (Hanamaki is convinced Kunimi will just slack off and find a place to nap instead, while Matsukawa has more faith in him . . . which is touching, but Hanamaki is right and they both know it so the argument is pointless. Kunimi thinks they just like getting each other riled up) and makes his way down the street in the familiar route to Kindaichi’s house.

The sky is clear for once, but the air still carries a chill that bites at his nose and ears. Tugging his beanie down lower, he stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and quickens his pace. It’s nearing the end of February, which means the weather should be warming up, soon. That will be nice. It’s much more comfortable napping in the spring when he can lay in the soft grass and feel the sun on his face. He always wakes to a chest covered in weeds from Kindaichi growing bored, but that’s not so bad either.

Huffing a cloud of white mist, Kunimi reaches up to ring the doorbell of his best friend’s house, a building much, much smaller than his own, but decidedly homier for the fact. He prefers Kindaichi’s place to his own, but his parents don’t like him to leave the house that often. It’s too much of a hassle to argue with them all the time, so Kindaichi comes over to his place more often than not.

So, it’s not that surprising when Kindaichi opens the door and his eyes widen.

“Kunimi-kun!”

“Hey.”

He steps into the house without waiting for Kindaichi to step back, gently shoving his shoulder against him to push his way in. He steps out of his shoes and into the house slippers he usually uses, making his way toward the living room to immediately curl up under the kotatsu, leaving a trail of his coat, gloves, scarf, and hat behind.

Kindaichi picks them all up dutifully, watching him with bemusement. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

“Mm.”

Kunimi’s already lying down, curled up beneath the warmth of the kotatsu, drifting into a dozing state.

_“I know where you are, you little shit. Don’t think you’ll get out of training that easily!”_

_“Go back to flirting with Matsukawa-san.”_

_“Oh, I will! But we’ll definitely be coming by to pick you up soon, so don’t get busy doing anything!”_

_I didn’t even come here to do anything besides nap,_ Kunimi thinks grumpily, pretty sure Hanamaki can hear that, too. He needs to learn how to put wards up around his mind. This constant vigilance from Hanamaki is tiresome.

“Kunimi-kun, you promised you wouldn’t slack off,” Kindaichi says, coming to sit beside him once his things are hung by the door.

“I just needed to get away for a bit. It’s suffocating over there.”

Kindaichi hums sympathetically. There’s a pause, before Kunimi feels Kindaichi start to shift in his seat, never one for being able to sit completely still if he’s not engaged in anything.

“Well . . . do you want some tea or a snack or something?”

“Kindaichi.”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

Kindaichi has the audacity to chuckle softly, but Kunimi pulls the blanket further up to hide any warming of his cheeks. There’s another moment of quiet, and Kunimi starts to doze again. He thinks he feels the tentative gesture of Kindaichi smoothing down his hat-hair, but he doesn’t react, despite the tingles that erupt over his scalp.

“I guess . . . it’s okay if you want to nap,” Kindaichi says softly. “You might not even need to take the trial. If everything works out . . .”

Kunimi frowns, opening his eyes to look up at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

Kindaichi starts, jerking his hand away from Kunimi’s head quickly and rubbing the back of his neck with it instead, looking away. “Um! Well, it’s just . . . I have a plan, sort of. It’s more Oikawa-san’s plan, really, but I came to him with the idea. I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s a good plan, and so I’m going to do my best . . .”

Kunimi sits up slowly, more confused than ever. “You’re not answering my question.”

Kindaichi bites his lip, glancing back at him before lowering his hand and watching it. “I’m, um, I’m sort of going after The House of the White Rose? To . . . stop the Hinokoku trials?”

Kunimi stares, wondering if he’s still asleep and this is a nightmare.

“Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san are going to help me. Oh, the rumors are true about Iwaizumi-san being alive. He’s living with Oikawa-san. They’re going to guide me through how to actually infiltrate the headquarters and find evidence on everyone who has a demon contract so we can take it to the other coven councils and get the White Rose disbanded.”

He can’t even process what Kindaichi says about Iwaizumi. He has to be dreaming. This can’t actually be real.

“I figure, if the other covens see that The House of the White Rose is not only sending kids into Hell dimensions for stupid tests of strength and will or whatever, but they’re also using actual demons as slaves and stuff, they’ll _have_ to force them to disband. It’s not right, none of it is right, and it has to _stop_, Kunimi-kun.”

Kunimi continues to stare, feeling like there’s an ocean crashing around in his skull, filling his ears with the sound of rushing water. His chest feels tight, tighter than it’s ever been before, and he suddenly realizes he can’t breathe here, either.

“Kunimi-kun? Are you okay?”

“You can’t be serious,” Kunimi forces out after a moment, his tone coming out much harsher than he intended, apparently, because Kindaichi winces.

“I know I said you could defeat the trial, and I still believe in you, but . . . you shouldn’t _have_ to, Kunimi-kun! None of us should have to go through-through that. So many kids don’t make it out or make it out broken . . . I_-I_ almost didn’t make it out . . .” He leans forward, grabbing Kunimi’s hand in both of his, looking at him with such an earnest gaze, Kunimi has to look away. “I’m not going to let you get hurt!”

“Stupid,” Kunimi mutters, yanking his hand away. “What about you? You’re shit at lying, Kindaichi. The second someone looks at you the wrong way you’re going to tell them what you’re up to. You’re only going to get yourself in trouble.”

Kindaichi inhales sharply. “I know I’m not that great at lying, but . . . Oikawa-san is going to help me with that!”

“Are you an idiot? You can’t do this,” Kunimi shakes his head quickly, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. All drowsiness is gone, replaced by anger. Honestly, how can Kindaichi be so . . . “You’re going to get caught, and then they’re going to _kill_ you.”

Kindaichi chuckles nervously. “Uh, I don’t think they _actually_ kill people . . .”

“Take away your magic, then. Which is just as bad.”

Kindaichi tilts his head to the side. “I think I’d be okay with my magic being gone. If it meant I could keep Kunimi-kun safe.”

“But you wouldn’t! Because you would have failed!” Kunimi grips the blanket in both hands, feeling himself getting uncharacteristically emotional. He needs to calm down. Spots are appearing in front of his eyes, and he realizes he’s not getting enough air. He drags in a deep breath, and it burns like he’s inhaling pins and needles.

Kindaichi leans forward, peering at his face with concern. “Kunimi-kun . . .”

“You can’t do this.” Kunimi stands abruptly, pursing his lips and doing his best to get himself under control. He inhales again, and it’s easier this time. He schools his face back into his regular impassive mask. “I won’t let you risk your life or your magic for me. I told you I wouldn’t slack off. I can pass the trial.”

“It’s not just about that, though,” Kindaichi says, scrambling to his feet, all elbows and knees. Kunimi has to tilt his head back to look at him, now, and he kind of hates him for it. “It’s not just about what-what happened to me or what might happen to you. It’s about all of the kids growing up in this coven, too. _None_ of them should have to go through that trial. It’s-it’s _wrong_. They train us and make us study so we’ll be prepared, but nobody can prepare them for what it’s really like. You don’t _know_—”

His voice cracks, tears welling up in his eyes. Kunimi stares at the scar, how it jumps, as Kindaichi clenches his jaw. It’s true. He doesn’t know exactly what Kindaichi faced in Hinokoku. All he knows is that his best friend came back bloodied and bruised and barely able to stand. He sat in his hospital bed and stared vacantly out the window for hours, fingernails almost non-existent. Kunimi remembers the cold feeling of dread in his stomach when he saw Kindaichi like that, how he wondered if he’d ever get his best friend back.

Kindaichi’s better now, able to function like normal. He’s the same lanky, bumbling guy who hasn’t yet grown into his hands and feet, the same stubborn asshole who can hold a grudge better than even Kunimi and who feels everything, so much, his whole heart out on his sleeve. Kunimi didn’t know if he’d lock his heart away after Hinokoku, to keep himself from getting hurt again, but here he is, his heart on display just like always, and Kunimi can’t bear the sight of it. He can see all of Kindaichi’s pain and his hope and his intense desire to _do_ something. To be the hero he always wanted to be, ever since they were kids.

But Kunimi can’t let him. It’s selfish, probably, but he can’t let Kindaichi get hurt either. Not again. Not if he can do something about it, this time.

“You’re right,” he admits softly. “I don’t know. But you can’t expect me to be okay with this. You’re _not_ a good liar, and there’s only three and a half weeks until my trial anyway. By the time you gather enough evidence, if you’re not caught immediately, it’ll probably be too late to do anything with it. For me, at least.”

Kindaichi’s jaw is set, hands in tight fists at his sides. “You don’t have to be okay with it,” he says stiffly. “I’m doing it anyway.”

Kunimi stares. “You’re an idiot,” he states flatly.

Kindaichi doesn’t flinch. He’s angry now, too. Kunimi can see the flush on his cheeks, recognizes the slant of his eyebrows. Kunimi keeps his expression cool, dispassionate, and hides his trembling hands inside his pockets.

“I should head back. I need to study.” He turns away and walks toward the door, something cold and hard settling in his stomach. Taking his things from the hooks by the door, he pulls them on, his movements unhurried, despite the rapid pace of his heart.

He half expects Kindaichi to stop him, but he’s not surprised when he doesn’t. Stubborn idiot. Chin held high, Kunimi pulls his shoes back on and makes his way outside. He’s almost home when he realizes his hands haven’t stopped shaking.

_“Oi. What’s with you? You’re all agitated. Trouble in paradise?”_

Kunimi’s chest twinges painfully. _“Fuck **off**,”_ he thinks as viciously as he can, and imagines a high wall slamming down in front of that tickle in the back of his mind that’s Hanamaki’s magic. He isn’t sure if he succeeded in cutting him off, but he doesn’t hear anything else.

He runs up to his room as soon as he gets home, slamming the door and burying his face in his pillow, finally letting out the scream that’s been simmering in his chest for the past ten minutes. It’s not like him at all, but he feels better afterwards.

For a little while, at least.

* * *

It’s been a long day, and Yahaba is ready to go home. More than a few people seem to have caught a cold from the rain, and so there’s been a steady stream of witches and even some non-magical folk making their way in and out of the clinic, grabbing whatever herbs or poultices or potions that will make them feel better and heal faster. Watari’s constantly running back and forth from the front counter to the back room to fetch things not on display, and Yahaba only gets some studying in during his lunch break. He’s going to need to study more before bed, which he’s not looking forward to.

Thankfully it’s the end of his shift, and he’s going about helping Watari clean before closing, when the door opens once more. Stifling a sigh, he turns, pasting on his “customer service” expression.

“Welcome to The Healthy Vine,” he calls in his most polite and pleasant voice, as he makes his way back to the counter to greet the customers. His eyes widen as he sees it’s none other than Oikawa Tooru, along with a guy Yahaba’s never seen before.

“Oikawa-san! Did you catch a cold, too?” he asks, trying not to look too curious.

“Of course not! I’m the epitome of perfect health,” Oikawa says, much too quickly.

Yahaba looks him over, noticing the brace on his right knee. Before he can ask about it, Oikawa has grabbed the arm of the person next to him and pulled them forward. Said person jerks his arm away quickly, glowering at Oikawa before turning his gaze onto Yahaba. The intensity in it causes a shiver to run up Yahaba’s spine.

_What’s this guy’s deal?!_

He’s thin, too thin to be healthy, and his clothes are ill-fitting, though clean. The pronounced brow and black stripes around his short, bleached hair give him the look of delinquent, as does his perpetual scowl. Oikawa doesn’t seem perturbed by the way he’s leaning away from him, he simply gestures to him and then to Yahaba.

“Kyouken, meet my adorable kouhai Yahaba Shigeru. Yahaba-kun, meet Kyoutani Kentarou. He’s a Hell Hound from Hinokoku.”

“Excuse me?” Yahaba’s tone doesn’t match the incredulity he feels, as he stares at Kyoutani with a mixture of horror and confusion.

Watari peeks his head out from behind a shelf in the apothecary side of the store. “Did someone say Hell Hound?” he asks with interest.

“Apparently Kyoutani imprinted on Iwa-chan or something while he was over there. He helped Iwa-chan escape, so to pay him back we’re letting him stay with us, as a refugee of sorts. But, well, something has come up and we can’t really devote as much time to getting him acclimated to humans as we’d like, so that’s where you come in.” Oikawa points at Yahaba.

Yahaba blinks. “_Me_?”

Oikawa smiles, one of his devious ones that Yahaba doesn’t trust at all. “Yes, I need you to look out for Kyouken-chan and help him learn how to act around humans. In return, he’ll be your sparring partner and show you some of the fighting techniques he knows.”

Yahaba sputters. This was definitely _not_ what he had in mind when agreeing to let Oikawa choose a sparring partner for him. He’s pretty sure the thought of training with an actual demon to fight _other_ demons hadn’t even crossed his mind; the idea is that ridiculous.

“You can’t seriously expect me to-to train with a-a _demon_.” Yahaba looks at Kyoutani warily. “What if he tries to eat me?”

Kyoutani’s glare could set a kettle to boiling. Oikawa laughs and waves off his concern, apparently not at all bothered by the waves of animosity emanating from the creature beside him.

“He’s not going to _eat_ you. At least, I’m pretty sure he won’t. He’s not a _demon_. Hell Hounds are soldiers and bodyguards to the demons of Hinokoku. They’re pets, basically.”

Kyoutani growls low under his breath, and Yahaba crosses his arms over his chest to hide the fact that his hands are shaking.

“How do you know he’ll even listen to me? He looks pretty disagreeable.” He’s extremely grateful that his voice doesn’t squeak just then. Years of working in the customer service industry have paid off, it seems.

“He has to, otherwise he won’t be able to stay in Japan,” Oikawa says, still acting like this is all completely normal. “He knows he’s stuck here, and if he doesn’t want to get set upon by every Demon Hunter in the city, he has to learn how to act like a human.” He glances at his wrist, which doesn’t even have a watch on it, before lifting his hand in a wave. “Ah, I must be off, now! I’ll leave you to it. I believe in you, Yahaba-kun!”

He escapes out the door, leaving Yahaba, Watari, and the Hell Hound standing in the empty clinic, staring at each other.

“Hi!” Watari’s the first to recover, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “I’m Watari Shinji. I’ve never met a Hell Hound before. It’s nice to meet you!”

Kyoutani looks at Watari’s hand like he’s never seen one before, frowning. Yahaba rolls his eyes.

“It’s not going to _bite_ you. You shake it. Like this.” He steps forward, lifting his hand to grab Kyoutani’s wrist.

The Hell Hound shies away so violently, he slams into the shelf beside him, nearly toppling it over. Watari yelps a short spell, flinging his hand out to catch the shelf with his magic, carefully setting it back into place. Kyoutani stays where he is, breathing hard, glaring at both of them.

Yahaba holds his hands up, not having expected such a violent reaction but guessing he can’t blame him. He doesn’t exactly want a Hell Hound touching him, either.

_What was Oikawa-san thinking?!_

This can’t possibly end well. Yahaba has no idea how to teach someone how to be human, and as a Demon Hunter in training, his first instinct should be to _kill_ creatures like Kyoutani. Though, he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to do that if they’re able to look so . . . well, human.

It’s just too weird.

“You should probably eat something,” he decides, thinking Kyoutani won’t be much of a sparring partner while looking like _that_. “Watari and I usually grab some ramen after work, so you’ll just come along with us, okay?”

Kyoutani grunts, not meeting his gaze. He’s still frowning, though Yahaba is starting to suspect that might just be his face. Turning towards the door, he walks a few steps before glancing back, realizing Kyoutani hasn’t moved. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes again, he beckons to him.

“Come _on_. You have to be hungry. Don’t worry about the payment or anything. Watari and I have enough between us to cover you.”

Kyoutani just looks confused now, and Yahaba wonders if they don’t have things like money in Hinokoku.

“It’s okay,” Watari says gently, and Yahaba bristles some at how Kyoutani seems to relax some at his voice.

He isn’t acting particularly harsh, is he? He thinks he’s doing a pretty good fucking job pretending like this isn’t weird as hell. Just being in the same room with a creature from Hell is making his skin crawl. Who knows what kind of destruction this creature can do? Oikawa said he helped Iwaizumi escape from Hinokoku, but what if he has ulterior motives? What does he want from Iwaizumi? Will he hurt Yahaba or Watari to get it?

Watari gestures for Kyoutani to follow him, and he does after a moment’s hesitation. Yahaba sighs, guessing he’ll just have to trust Oikawa’s word that he won’t try anything or do anything violent. He seems rather harmless _now_, staying close to Watari’s heels but avoiding getting too close to Yahaba on his other side.

Well, that’s fine. Yahaba doesn’t care if the thing likes him or not. If he’s a good fighter, that’s all Yahaba needs him for.

“I think you’ll really like ramen,” Watari says, his voice normal, his expression open and friendly. He doesn’t seem perturbed at all by the fact that he has what amounts to a demon’s Rottweiler trailing along beside him. But then Watari’s just like that. Always kind, always friendly, always encouraging. If anyone can make friends with a creature from literal Hell, it’ll be him. “It’s probably really different from what you’re used to, but there’s a lot of types you can try. There’s some that are super spicy and hot that you’ll probably like if you’re from Hinokoku. It’s hot there, right? I hear it’s really hot.”

Kyoutani grunts softly in what sounds like the affirmative. Yahaba sticks his hands into his pockets and keeps his gaze ahead.

The restaurant is a small family-owned shop on the corner, three blocks down from Yahaba’s home. He and Watari eat there so often, the family knows them by name and have memorized their usual orders. The lone host and server, a young man around Yahaba and Watari’s age looks up from his phone as they approach, smiling.

“Good evening, Yahaba-san, Watari-san! You’ve brought a new friend!”

“Good evening, Yuda-san,” Watari greets cheerfully. “This is Kyoutani. He’s new to Tokyo, so Yahaba and I are showing him the best places to eat!”

Yuda bows. “It’s nice to meet you, Kyoutani-san! I hope you enjoy your meal!”

Kyoutani stares, sticking his hand out after a moment. Yahaba starts to reach over and push it down but, remembering how well almost touching him went last time, thinks better of it and allows the awkwardness to happen. Thankfully, Yuda doesn’t seem offended. He laughs and takes Kyoutani’s hand, giving it a short shake.

“Would you like your usual table?” Yuda asks, turning back to Yahaba and Watari.

Yahaba nods. “Yes, please, thank you,” he says, feeling like he needs to compensate for Kyoutani’s lack of proper manners. Not that he necessarily knows how to act, but _still_.

Yuda glances behind him to make sure said table is clear, then gestures for the three to enter. Yahaba quickly takes a seat beside Watari, leaving Kyoutani to have the other side of the table to himself. He looks around at everything with a frown, reaching up to tug absently at the hoodie strings at his neck.

“This is the menu,” Watari explains, opening it in front of Kyoutani. “Do you know how to read Japanese?”

Kyoutani’s scowl darkens. He shakes his head, once. Yahaba sighs. This already seems like it’s going to be more trouble than it’s worth. As Watari patiently explains the different menu items, gesturing to the various photos as reference, Yahaba studies the Hell Hound. He’s bent forward, studying the menu intently, his deep-set eyes following the movement of Watari’s finger. His lashes are long and dark, making his eyes look as though they’re lined with black. The broadness of his shoulders suggests that he usually has a much larger build than the one he currently has, and Yahaba can’t help but wonder how much more intimidating he’ll look once he’s filled out.

_What exactly does Oikawa-san expect me to do with him? He’ll be staying with him and Iwaizumi-san, but will that only be during the evenings and nights? Is he to stay with me during the day? What about my job? My studies?_

Yahaba sighs, resting his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. He’ll probably need to get a job at the clinic, so Yahaba and Watari can keep an eye on him and show him how best to interact with humans and pass as one himself. He can only imagine what kind of disastrous situations _that_ will lead to. But it doesn’t look like he has much of a choice. He needs this job, and with his license exam a mere three months away. He needs to gain more experience if he wants to pass with exceptional scores. Kyoutani probably _can_ teach him things about fighting demons that nobody else can. He most likely has the most experience of anyone, even Demon Hunters.

There’s probably invaluable information to be gleaned, here. If only the Hell Hound weren’t so damn unpleasant.

He realizes with a start that Kyoutani has met his gaze, and they’ve been in an unintentional staring contest for the past few seconds. He narrows his eyes, not about to back down now, and Kyoutani’s frown deepens. Watari laughs softly beside him, but Yahaba doesn’t break eye-contact, even as they start to burn around the edges. Finally, when he feels like his eyes are about to burst into flames, Kyoutani blinks and turns his glare to the sudden appearance of a water at his elbow.

Yahaba leans back in his seat to give Yuda space to place his own water down, closing his eyes briefly to soothe the sting. When he opens them again, he sees Kyoutani trying to lap at the water with his tongue, unable to quite get to it as the water is too far down the glass for his tongue to reach. Yahaba laughs in spite of himself, causing Kyoutani’s head to whip up once more with another glare.

“Don’t demons usually have hands?” he asks, shaking his head and picking up his water to demonstrate.

Kyoutani’s ears glow bright red, but he just picks up the glass like Yahaba has, bringing the rim to his lips and taking a drink. Yahaba hides his smirk behind his own glass.

This might be kind of fun.

* * *

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa means well; he really does. The guy may be selfish, but when it comes down to it, he goes above and beyond what’s asked of him. As he explains to Iwaizumi what his plans are for Kindaichi and Kyouken (whom they have officially named Kyoutani Kentarou to make his integration into Tokyo easier), he has to admit that they’re not _terrible_.

But to quote one of Oikawa’s favorite movies: he’s got a bad feeling about this.

The Kyoutani thing is fine. He doesn’t know Yahaba Shigeru, but Oikawa seems to have complete faith in his abilities to keep an eye on Kyoutani and make sure he stays out of trouble. Apparently, he’ll be spending his days at the Healthy Vine Clinic & Apothecary, working and training with Yahaba, and his nights will be spent in Oikawa’s sister’s room (Kenma and Kuroo’s old room). Iwaizumi has no problem with that. It’s a relief, actually, to know Kyoutani will be in good hands and still be able to see him at night.

No, what bothers him is this whole thing with Kindaichi.

It doesn’t feel right, sending the kid into the lion’s den without any backup. Oikawa insists that he’ll prep Kindaichi for any questions and teach him spells he might not already know to sneak past security cameras and through locked doors. But Oikawa doesn’t know Kindaichi like Iwaizumi does. Despite the kid’s earnest nature and willingness to go the extra mile, he’s not manipulative. He’s much more like Iwaizumi in his straight-forward honesty and non-duplicitous nature. Iwaizumi really isn’t sure he’ll be able to pull off a heist like this.

So, when his old student Kunimi Akira shows up at the door the next afternoon, he can’t really say he’s surprised.

“Let me guess,” he says, as he lets the kid inside. “Kindaichi told you about Oikawa’s plan and you’re here to convince us to stop him somehow.”

Two spots of pink appear on Kunimi’s delicate cheeks, but otherwise his expression remains unchanged.

“It’s irresponsible of you to let him do this,” he states factually. “He’s just a kid, and he’s absolute shit at lying. You know this, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. Again, he’d been in the middle of a work-out, dressed in a white tank and some black track-pants, a towel slung over his neck.

“Do you want some tea or something?” he asks to be polite and to stall, because he honestly doesn’t know what to say when he _agrees_ with him but isn’t sure how to rectify the situation.

“No,” Kunimi says, and then as an afterthought, “thank you.”

Iwaizumi nods absently, leading the way over to the couch. Kunimi pauses to step out of his shoes, but he doesn’t remove his coat, hat, or scarf. He sits down on one end of the couch, leaving a large gap between them. For a moment he stares off into space blankly. Iwaizumi isn’t sure what that’s about, but he waits patiently until Kunimi blinks and turns back toward him.

“Kindaichi looks up to you and Oikawa-san,” he says, hands folded on his lap. “If you tell him not to do it, he won’t.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Iwaizumi admits. “He seems pretty adamant about stopping the trials before your birthday. He might just go on without us and then we won’t even be able to help him because we won’t know what’s going on.”

Kunimi huffs softly. “Then why don’t you do it?” he asks after a moment, his impassive expression hardening. It’s barely perceptible, but Iwaizumi’s spent enough time studying Oikawa’s micro-expressions to pick up on it.

It takes him a moment to wrap his head around what Kunimi is actually saying, though, and when he realizes he feels his blood suddenly run cold.

“I . . .”

“They think you’re dead. Or missing, probably. You could say you’ve just returned and would like to come home, back to your coven. They might punish you for being away, but you were one of their strongest members, back then. They’re going to want you to stay. Then _you_ can search for the evidence.”

Iwaizumi swallows hard. Kunimi isn’t _wrong_. The coven probably does want him back, if only to humiliate him in some way again and prove a point. His hand moves toward his forehead almost involuntarily. Kunimi’s eyes follow the movement but his expression doesn’t change. Iwaizumi lowers his hand quickly.

“We . . . we can’t know for sure that they’ll let me anywhere near the offices if I go back,” he says, shaking his head.

“Then convince them to let you serve out your punishment at headquarters somehow,” Kunimi says flatly, no sympathy in his eyes.

_Talk about cold-blooded . . ._

He wonders why Kunimi isn’t offering to infiltrate the headquarters himself, if he’s this worried about Kindaichi. He probably has the best poker-face out of all of them, save Oikawa, but he can’t exactly go into the House of the White Rose’s headquarters. As a member of the House of the Eastern Star, Oikawa probably wouldn’t even make it past the courtyard.

Then again, he supposes asking Kunimi to do it defeats the purpose of the whole thing in the first place. Plus, he’s just a kid. Iwaizumi’s the adult in this situation, even though he’s only twenty-two.

Kunimi’s right. They shouldn’t be leaving this to the kids, and Iwaizumi’s always known he can’t hide forever. Hasn’t he been longing to be useful again? This sort of seems like jumping out of the frying pan and straight into the fire, but what choice does he have? The coven probably won’t _kill_ him. The worse they can do is take his magic, but if Kunimi is right about them wanting his skillset, then that would be as much a detriment to them as to him.

He’ll be punished, most definitely, but he’s been through Hinokoku, twice now. He’s been locked in their dungeons; wears the brand they gave him in excruciating detail. If he can stop the trials, stop the cycle of abuse that has stained the White Rose’s reputation for decades . . . isn’t that worth risking punishment?

“Okay,” he says softly, knowing Oikawa will be furious. “I’ll do it.”

The relief in Kunimi’s eyes almost makes it worth it.

“YOU DID WHAT?!” Oikawa screeches, not three hours later when he returns home and Iwaizumi tells him the plan has changed.

“I told him I’ll take Kindaichi’s place. It isn’t right to leave all this to a kid, Oikawa. Especially one like Kindaichi. He’s going to get caught.”

“But they don’t _trust_ you, Iwa-chan! They know you stole the portal pendant. They know you’re with me . . . they did _that_ to you because of it!” He gestures to the brand on Iwaizumi’s forehead. “Traitor. That’s what you are to them. They’re not going to just accept you walking back into their coven and saying you’re sorry!”

It takes everything in Iwaizumi to stand completely still. His arms are crossed, and he’s leaning back against the door, which he closed the minute he pulled Oikawa into the room. He’s not sure when Oikawa’s parents are returning from their mission, but he doesn’t want them to walk in on an argument as explosive as this one.

He’ll be glad for their presence once he leaves, though, as the thought of Oikawa not having any support system makes him even more reluctant to go.

“I’ll make them believe me,” Iwaizumi says softly, honestly having no idea how he’ll do that, but knowing he has to try anything.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s eyes are wide, and his hands tremble, as he steps forward and grabs Iwaizumi’s face between them. “Our plan is good. Let the kid do it. He _wants_ to do it!”

“You know I can’t do that,” Iwaizumi says, doing his best to not be affected by the glassiness in Oikawa’s eyes. Slowly, he uncrosses his arms, reaching up to hold Oikawa’s, rubbing his thumbs against the skin of his forearms lightly. “This is the right thing to do. This is what I’ve _wanted_ to do. What I tried to do at the beginning, when I took the pendant in the first place. I should’ve gone back to finish the job, then, instead of hiding out here, pretending like I was dead or lost to Hinokoku.”

Oikawa’s expression hardens, and his fingers dig into Iwaizumi’s head. “_Don’t_ say that,” he says sharply, shaking his head. “Don’t talk like you regret being here with me.”

“I don’t regret it,” Iwaizumi assures him. “But I’ve been selfish.”

“Iwa-chan is allowed to be selfish sometimes!”

“Maybe.” Iwaizumi inhales slowly, feeling the way the air shudders through his tight chest. “But I can’t be selfish anymore. I’m doing this, Tooru. I’m sorry. I have to.”

Oikawa’s lower lip trembles, as he deflates. Sagging forward, he drops his forehead onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi immediately moves to wrap his arms around him, holding him close.

“Iwa-chan is so noble,” Oikawa says softly, sniffling. “Makes me want to punch him.”

“You can punch me,” Iwaizumi allows, knowing if the situation were reversed, he’d wrestle Oikawa to the floor and sit on top of him.

Oikawa taps his fist against Iwaizumi’s chest. Iwaizumi can’t help but laugh thickly.

“That all you got, you big baby?” he asks affectionately, reaching up with one hand to card his fingers gently through the back of Oikawa’s hair.

“Iwa-chan has to come back. He has to . . . you _have_ to come back,” Oikawa hisses, curling his fingers into the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt.

“Of course I will,” Iwaizumi says, mustering up all the confidence he can to put into the words. “It’s not like I’m going off to war, dumbass. You’re being dramatic.” So he says, even as he swallows down the lump in his throat and fights back the tears burning the corners of his eyes. Oikawa’s tears are leaking into his shirt.

“Hey,” he says softly after a moment, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the door with a soft _thud_. “You know the spell for the Infinite Bond?”

Oikawa grows still in his arms. Iwaizumi keeps his eyes closed, as he pulls back, because he’s not sure what expression Oikawa might be making. He’s not sure he’ll be able to see any of them without breaking, though.

“Are you serious, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice is barely above a whisper and heavy with his tears.

“Obviously,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, trying to hide his own. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” He pauses, realizing Oikawa didn’t answer the question. He clears his throat. “So, uh, do you?”

Oikawa laughs wetly. “Of course I do, Iwa-chan. I’ve known it for ages.”

The soft implication isn’t lost on Iwaizumi, and he can feel his ears growing hot. Opening his eyes, he looks up into Oikawa’s tear-stained face, at his wobbly smile, and it feels like his chest is about to burst. He moves his hand from Oikawa’s hair, pressing it against the side of his face, wiping at the tear tracks with his thumb.

“Are you strong enough for it?” he asks, his own voice falling to a soft, hoarse sound.

Oikawa leans into his touch, pressing his lips against the inside of Iwaizumi’s wrist, as his hand comes up to curl around it. “Mmm, I think so,” he says, and a new determination lights his eyes.

An involuntary shiver runs down Iwaizumi’s spine. He feels somewhat lightheaded, wondering if they’re really about to do this. The Infinite Bond is a complicated spell, one that takes years to master, and undoing it is just as difficult, possibly even deadly. It binds the auras of two people together, making it so one can’t go more than a few dozen miles away without them both feeling debilitating nausea, and if either of the two are in distress, the other can feel it and pinpoint the location of their partner. It’s said that the Bond knits the two souls together, and while the connection doesn’t work exactly like telepathy, it’s one that grows stronger the longer it holds and the closer the two are to one another, to the point where one can know intimately what the other is feeling at all times.

Iwaizumi thinks being able to _feel_ all of Oikawa’s emotions instead of just witnessing them will be overwhelming, but he isn’t about to back down. He wants this. He wants to be intricately tied to Oikawa in every way. He wants to be able to feel him, even if he’s locked in a dungeon in the House of the White Rose’s headquarters.

He’s Iwaizumi’s best friend. He has been since he was sixteen, and they first met at that Gathering festival. Oikawa opened his eyes to a whole new way of living and using magic. He opened his mind to new thoughts, his own thoughts, separate from the ones he grew up hearing. Most importantly, Oikawa opened his heart to new type of love. One he didn’t even know could exist as strongly as it does within him now.

“I love you,” he breathes, his chest aching, breath stuttering on the words.

Oikawa’s smile is his softest one, the one he reserves for Iwaizumi only, and it warms him from head to toe.

Leaning forward, he knocks his forehead gently against Iwaizumi’s.

“I love you too, Hajime,” he murmurs, before closing his eyes and bringing one hand up. Iwaizumi lifts his to meet it, tangling their fingers together and holding on firmly.

Oikawa takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and then he begins to cast the spell.

It starts as a tingle at the base of his spine, traveling up like electricity moving through a wire and extending out through his chest. Iwaizumi shudders, closing his eyes tightly, lending his magic to Oikawa to bolster his energy, strengthening the spell. He feels a tug at the center of his chest, but it doesn’t draw him forward. Instead, it moves outward on its own, burning through his skin until it breaks through to the other side.

Opening his eyes, he glances down and watches, as a golden spiral of light moves toward Oikawa’s chest. There, another spiral of light has appeared, coming to meet his. Like vines extending from a tree, they grow outwards until they collide and twist together. Oikawa’s light curl around the length of his, traveling back down the vine to pierce Iwaizumi’s chest, even as Iwaizumi’s does the same to Oikawa.

Iwaizumi inhales sharply, and Oikawa’s voice stutters over a word, only to continue stronger than before. The two lights continue to burrow deep within each of them, wrapped around each other in the middle and continuing to grow, to feed into each other, more and more until Iwaizumi’s sure his chest is going to explode from the amount of warmth cascading into him. Their magic hovers around them in a sphere, encasing them completely, and the hairs on Iwaizumi’s arms and the back of his neck stand on end.

Then, suddenly, the spell is done, and the magic recedes, shrinking back into their skin. The two intertwined vines cease their spirals, but they don’t disengage or retract. Instead, the light just fades, until Iwaizumi can’t see them anymore. But he knows they’re still there, connecting him to Oikawa and Oikawa to him.

“Iwa-chan.”

Oikawa’s voice is quiet in the heavy silence. They’re both panting; Iwaizumi feels as though he’s either run several hundred kilometers or had the most epic sex of his life. Sweat beads his forehead, and Oikawa’s hair clings to the side of his temples. It takes more effort than it should for Iwaizumi to lift his head and meet Oikawa’s gaze.

“Yeah?” It’s all he can come up with as a reply.

Oikawa’s lips twitch in a faint smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to buy me a ring first?”

Iwaizumi shoves him backwards so hard he flops down on the bed, laughing.

“Such a pain in the ass,” Iwaizumi mutters, his face on fire, even as he throws himself down onto the bed next to him.

Oikawa hums softly, moving to curl his body around his. He’s heavy, exhaustion evident in his sigh. Iwaizumi can’t say he feels much better.

“Don’t leave until tomorrow, okay?” he murmurs against the back of Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Yeah.”

He can’t help but hope tomorrow never comes.

* * *

Akira-kun has been in a mood. Hanamaki can only see brief glimpses into his mind past the barrier the young one has created (totally untaught, which is rather impressive), but he can sense the turmoil inside of him. It’s also pretty fucking obvious something is wrong when the teenager ignores his tutor and demon and stomps up the stairs, slamming his door shut hard enough to cause the mirrors in the hallway to vibrate.

Matsukawa blinks slowly after the display. He was about to go find Akira and drag him back for his lessons, when Akira stormed into the house on his own, face impassive but his aura awash with teenage angst. Hanamaki turns his gaze from the stairs, offering Matsukawa a shrug in response.

“Don’t look at me. He was at Turnip-kun’s place. He’s usually all sparkly after he spends time with the kid, with just a hint of angst. I have no idea what’s up with him now.”

“Maybe he and Kindaichi-kun had a fight,” Matsukawa suggests.

“They hardly ever fight,” Hanamaki muses, stroking his chin.

“Well, either way, I don’t think we’re going to get much out of him today, so I’ll take my leave.” Matsukawa bows politely, despite the fact that Hanamaki isn’t anyone to pay respect to.

“It was good seeing you, even if your visit was pointless,” Hanamaki says with a grin, ignoring how their last mind encounter went, as he was wont to do whenever things didn’t go well in there.

Matsukawa does the same, though, acting like everything is normal and he didn’t completely reject Hanamaki’s advances. Today they chatted and bantered like always over how best to proceed with Akira’s training, and Hanamaki isn’t sure if that means he’s free to enter Matsukawa’s mind again tonight or not.

He doesn’t ask, and Matsukawa leaves without another word.

Akira isn’t faring much better the next day. He stares out the window during his study session in the morning. Hanamaki can see the gears working in his head, but when he tries to prod at that door, he finds himself completely shut out once again.

“You’ve gotten quite cheeky, haven’t you?” he drawls, sprawling out on the floor beside the kotatsu. He looks up at Matsukawa, able to see up his nose in this position. He resists the urge to stick a pencil up one nostril. The man doesn’t look at him.

“I don’t want you going in my head,” Akira says flatly.

“It’s for your own good! You’re much too taciturn, Akira-kun. If you don’t express yourself, I’m never going to figure out your needs and wants without doing a little poking around.”

Matsukawa sets his pencil down. “It’s obvious something’s bothering you; so why don’t you just get it over with and tell us?”

Akira glances between the two of them with pursed lips. “No,” he says flatly, moving to stand. Bowing stiffly, he turns toward the door. “I’m going for a walk.”

Hanamaki tilts his head back against the carpet to watch Akira leave the study, before sighing dramatically and moving his arms and legs as though he’s trying to make a snow-angel. “The joys of teenage drama~”

“Were you a teenager?” Matsukawa asks, glancing down at him finally.

Hanamaki grins. “I didn’t pop out of the ground fully formed!” he exclaims, sitting up and grabbing his feet, pulling them in to sit cross-legged. “I hatched from an egg and was a little toddler demon, then a child demon, then a teenage demon, and now I’m an adult demon.”

Matsukawa blinks. “How old are you, then?”

Hanamaki taps his chin. “About one hundred and twenty years by now, I’d guess.”

Matsukawa’s eyes widen. Hanamaki winks at him. “Into older guys, are you?”

Matsukawa coughs and looks away. “Not really.”

Hanamaki hums, sensing a lie but not commenting on it. “There’s a new movie out that I think you’d like. There’s monsters in it.”

Matsukawa gives him a sidelong look, caterpillar brows meeting over his nose. “What makes you think I like monster movies?”

Hanamaki smirks. “Because you’re totally a monster-fucker,” he says.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes, but Hanamaki doesn’t miss the light dusting of pink on his cheekbones. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? I’ve seen into your mind, Mattsun~ I know what you dream about.”

Matsukawa gives him a look. “No, you don’t. I block you from those.”

Hanamaki raises his eyebrows. “Oh? Is there something you’re embarrassed about in there, Mattsun?”

“It’s just none of your business.”

Hanamaki moves forward, crawling closer and leaning his elbow against the kotatsu to speak close to Matsukawa’s ear. “I dream about you, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa’s grip tightens on his pencil. “This is highly inappropriate,” he mutters.

“Mmm, but you’re enjoying it anyway.” Hanamaki feels a burst of insane courage and leans forward to nip at Matsukawa’s ear with his sharp teeth.

Matsukawa careens away from him so quickly he falls over onto the floor. Hanamaki blinks, ignoring the twinge of hurt in his chest, laughing abruptly.

“Mattsun sure is clumsy today!”

“I know what you’re doing. Cut it out,” Matsukawa retorts, suddenly looking his young twenty-five years and not like the serious old tutor he tries to be.

“Make me,” Hanamaki taunts, sticking his tongue out at him.

Matsukawa throws his pencil. It hits Hanamaki in the face, startling another laugh out of him. “What kind of lame attack is that?!”

“I’m not wasting any energy on you.”

“Waste! Nothing you do with me is a waste, Mattsun.”

“That’s debatable,” Matsukawa says, but there’s a smile playing about his lips, so Hanamaki considers it a win.

There’s not much else to do without Akira, so Hanamaki is disappointed but not surprised when Matsukawa starts packing up his things.

“Leaving so soon?” Hanamaki asks, reclining against the kotatsu, his tail twitching back and forth in the air behind him. “Why don’t you stay for some ice cream? Or perhaps some whisky? I think Kunimi-san has some in the back of the tea cart.” He glances toward said cart before glancing back at Matsukawa with a smirk.

“It’s ten-thirty in the morning,” Matsukawa says blankly.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Hanamaki informs him.

Matsukawa glances toward the door, but he’s hesitating. “I really should go. I have other students.”

Hanamaki sighs. “Well, if you must. I suppose I’ll just see you tonight. In your dreams~”

Matsukawa coughs, his cheeks turning pink once more. “Yes, well . . .” He doesn’t finish, escaping out the door quickly.

Hanamaki waves, watching him go. He’s alone, now, and isn’t entirely sure what to do. He reaches out for Akira’s mind, wondering where he’s gone. He’s in an unfamiliar house with an unfamiliar man, but he doesn’t sense any fear in Akira, only irritation.

_“Your tutor left, but don’t think you’ll get out of training that easily.”_

_“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”_

_“Don’t leave me hanging, Akira-kun.”_

Guessing that was that for now, Hanamaki crawls underneath the kotatsu. It’s strange, being warm. In Kouriki, it was cold, always cold. The opposite of Hinokoku. Despite the fact that he enjoys indoor plumbing and things like movies and whisky, he can’t help but sometimes miss his icy mountain cave, the snow-covered rocks and fields, the red-blood trees standing in stark contrast against the white.

He wonders if he’ll ever see them again.

He’s not sure how much time has passed before he hears the study door sliding open. He continues to lie still, not sure if it’s Akira or one of his parents. But then he hears a familiar sigh and the thump of a body hitting the floor. When he crawls out from under the kotatsu, he finds Akira lying on the carpet, eyes closed.

“Well?” Hanamaki prompts.

Akira doesn’t reply for a moment, and when he does, he doesn’t open his eyes. “Kindaichi’s trying to get The House of the White Rose disbanded before my trial. He got some others to help him . . . I just found out about it yesterday.”

“Ah, so that was the reason for all the stomping around,” Hanamaki muses, stroking his chin. “Is that really so bad, though? I mean, no offense, but your coven kinda sucks.”

Akira frowns, opening his eyes, then. “I know it does, but Kindaichi doesn’t know what he’s walking into. He’s going to get caught. So I talked to the guys helping him. Or, one of them at least. They’re going to take over so Kindaichi doesn’t have to do anything.”

Hanamaki raises his eyebrows. “You really think Yuu-kun won’t do anything? That kid is crazy about you.”

Pink rises on Akira’s cheeks, and he looks away. “I won’t let him get hurt.”

“How noble,” Hanamaki comments idly, amused by the stubborn way Akira’s refusing to look at him. “You ever think about telling him how you feel?”

Akira doesn’t respond, so Hanamaki changes the subject in the hopes of continuing the conversation. He was so _bored_ stuck in the house all by himself.

“Well? What’s the big plan for revolution, then?”

Akira sighs, folding his arms over his face. “They’re going to gather evidence of the different council members’ contracts with demons and present it to the other covens’ councils.”

Hanamaki straightens. “Oh, is _that_ all? I can give you that!” He reaches for his sleeve, rolling it up to the elbow to reveal the “Property of Kunimi” tattooed down his forearm in Japanese. “Here, just take a picture of this. I’ll drop my human form, too, so you can get the full effect.”

Akira’s hands curl into fists, but he doesn’t move other than that. The silence stretches on, growing thick, as realization dawns on Hanamaki. An ache he doesn’t recognize expands within his chest, and he slowly rolls his sleeve back down.

“Ah, I see. You’re not going to help them.”

“Taking a photo won’t prove anything. They’ll just say I doctored it.”

It’s a logical excuse, but also a cowardly one, and Hanamaki knows Akira recognizes this. He keeps his face covered; his lips set in a thin, white line. Really, Hanamaki should’ve known better. Akira always does what’s expected of him, after all, in the end. He tries his best to be the obedient son his parents always wanted. Even when he rebels, it’s in small ways that don’t really affect anyone but himself. Napping when he should be doing chores or studying, sneaking out to see Kindaichi in the middle of the night, using his mother’s expensive silk sheets to make a fort to sleep in with Kindaichi in the backyard . . . harmless things, really.

Hanamaki shouldn’t have expected him to rebel against his parents in any way that would actually hurt them. He doesn’t even know what his father does to Hanamaki after hours, so, really, what purpose is there for him to risk his magic, possibly his life, to take down his father and the Coven Council?

Still, Hanamaki can’t stop the sting that pierces his chest knowing Akira won’t do anything to help free him from his contract. Does he think Hanamaki will simply disappear from his life if he does? Hanamaki isn’t entirely sure _what_ he’ll do if he’s ever set free, but abandoning Akira isn’t on the list. It never is, even when he fantasizes about returning to Kouriki. He always thinks of how he’ll find a way to visit, to check in on his young ward, however he can.

But perhaps Akira doesn’t think he feels that much for him, being a demon and all.

“Well . . .” Hanamaki breaks the silence finally, not really sure what to say. “You have a point there.”

Akira sits up, his back turned toward him. “I’m sorry, Hanamaki-san,” he murmurs, barely audible.

Hanamaki waves his hand in front of him, even though Akira can’t see. “Ah, don’t mind. If Yuu-kun’s friends pull this off I’ll be set free anyway and if not . . . well, I’ve always wanted to see how your epic love story with Yuu-kun will end.”

Akira stands, grabbing his books from the kotatsu. “I’m going to go study in my room.”

He’ll probably end up napping on his bed, but Hanamaki lets him go without protest. The air around him still feels weighted, somehow, and he rubs absently at his chest. It’s been a day, and he hopes the Master will forgo his experiments tonight.

Unfortunately, that night finds Hanamaki writhing on the floor of his cage, as pain throbs through his abdomen and head, threatening to splice him in half, at least that’s how it feels. He’s gasping, as his chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. The room spins, but he can see Kunimi Eiji standing over him, syringe in his hand, empty now of the poison he just injected into Hanamaki’s arm. He observes him quietly, setting the syringe down to pick up his phone, speaking into it.

“Subject appears vulnerable to cyanide poisoning through intravenous injection. We’ll see how long it takes for its regeneration to combat the deterioration of its interior.”

“F-Fuck you,” Hanamaki spits, swallowing back the bile that rises in his throat. If he vomits it’ll only be all over the inside of his cage, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with that later.

He curls into a ball, arms clutching his stomach and abdomen tightly, as he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the pain to pass. It takes several wheezing, desperate gasps of air before he can feel the vise around his lungs loosening, allowing him to breathe. He shudders, as his body begins to heal, repairing the damage done by the poison. The pain is the last to leave, and he breathes a sigh of relief, setting his forehead against the floor, as he pants.

“Interesting.” Eiji turns away, speaking into his phone once more. “Total time from injection to full health is five minutes. Subject took longer to heal from cyanide than from arsenic, but the results are the same. No apparent immediate effects following the healing process. Will retrieve a blood sample to compare post-healing from cyanide to the post-healing from arsenic. Blood may possibly be used to cure the effects of poison in humans but will need further study.”

Hanamaki’s too weak to pull away, as Eiji grabs his arm and injects him again, this time to draw out his blood. His body continues to tremor, and he wraps his arm around himself after Eiji releases it. The man walks over to his table, setting his phone down and typing a few notes on his laptop, before he labels the vial in his hand and turns to the fridge beside him. Opening it, he deposits Hanamaki’s blood sample into a holder beside the others, also labeled with dates and whatever substance he tested on him before drawing the sample.

After this, he walks out of the basement without a second glance toward Hanamaki. Groaning, he rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling through the bars of his cage. That was the worst experiment, yet. Hanamaki has no idea if the man actually plans on using his blood for anything worthwhile, or if he’s just getting his rocks off studying him.

Closing his eyes, he tries not to think of Akira and how he could stop all of this if he wanted to, if he knew. The temptation to barge into his mind and tell him everything wars with Hanamaki’s desire to shield the kid from the truth. He might be old enough now to hear it, but after what happened earlier . . . would Akira think he’s lying just to get him to help in Kindaichi’s plan?

Too exhausted to further speculate, he goes instead to the familiar refuge of Matsukawa’s mind.

He’s awake, this time, despite the late hour, but he thankfully doesn’t prevent Hanamaki from entering. Pulling up the study, as per usual, Hanamaki gives Matsukawa a faint smirk, enjoying the view of him in his large, cozy sweater and fuzzy lounge pants.

“Nice outfit,” he says. “You sure look cuddly.”

Matsukawa tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “And you look like shit,” he says.

Hanamaki glances down and grimaces. He usually presents himself as he looks when Matsukawa comes to the Kunimis’ during the day. In his exhaustion, he fucked up and forgot to change his appearance. He looks as he does now in the cage, wearing just his fundoshi. He’s probably paler than normal too, considering.

“Ah, well, you know. Long day and all that,” Hanamaki says, snapping his fingers. He’s now wearing a bright pink sweater, bringing out the pink in his hair, along with a pair of black leggings. He grins, stretching his legs out in front of him to nudge Matsukawa with his toes. “Better?”

Matsukawa’s expression doesn’t change. “Did something happen with Akira-kun? Did you talk to him?”

“Right, that.” Hanamaki sighs, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, grabbing his knees. “Apparently Turnip-kun has this grand plan to take down the House of the White Rose by gathering evidence that the council leaders hold demon contracts.” He grins, even as his teeth clench. “Akira-kun convinced Turnip-kun’s friends to take over the operation so the kid won’t get caught.”

Matsukawa blinks slowly. “Wow. That’s ambitious.”

He’s watching Hanamaki with a look he can’t quite read, and it makes his stomach flip over itself.

“Don’t worry, Mattsun; I won’t be going anywhere. Akira-kun doesn’t plan on turning his father in. Such loyalty, amiright?” He grins so hard his face hurts.

Matsukawa frowns slightly. “Do you want me to talk to him? I can understand him not wanting to get his dad in trouble, but if this plan works . . . you’d be able to go free.”

“That eager to get rid of me, are you?” Hanamaki picks absently at the carpet beneath him, pulling up lint pieces and flicking them to the side.

“Well . . . you’re not happy here.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” Hanamaki tilts his head to the side, thinking his performance has been pretty fucking spectacular so far.

“I know you care about Akira-kun, and you enjoy teasing me, but this isn’t your home. Don’t you want to go home?”

Hanamaki shrugs, looking away. “This has been all I’ve known for . . . decades. I’m not sure I’d know what to do with myself back in my own dimension.”

“Still . . . I would’ve thought you’d be more eager to break your contract.”

“It’s not like I _enjoy_ being a slave,” Hanamaki snaps, his patience wearing thin quicker than usual. “But I can’t really blame the kid for not wanting to go against his father. He doesn’t _know_—” He stops, pursing his lips, realizing he’s said too much.

Matsukawa’s eyes are sharp behind those hooded lids, and he doesn’t miss a thing. “Know what?” he prompts.

“Ah, nothing. I just mean . . . I’ve been a part of his family for so long, he probably just doesn’t want to get rid of me on top of putting his father in magic jail or whatever,” Hanamaki says with a laugh, waving him off.

Matsukawa’s eyes don’t leave his face. “What doesn’t he know, Makki?”

“You’re awfully persistent tonight. You sure you want to waste time interrogating me? There are so many more fun things we could be doing~” Hanamaki moves his tail to stroke the end of it along Matsukawa’s arm.

Matsukawa twists his arm around to grab it, startling Hanamaki into stillness. He tugs gently, and Hanamaki finds himself moving forward instinctively, crawling closer to the human. He stops short of actually touching him, though, and Matsukawa doesn’t pull him any closer.

“Well, this is an interesting development,” Hanamaki says lightly, trying to cover for the fact that his heart is pounding wildly in his chest, as he settles down on his knees directly in front of Matsukawa.

“Why do you always make this the study? Or sometimes the kitchen, or a guest bedroom? Don’t they give you a room?” Matsukawa asks, slowly releasing Hanamaki’s tail.

“Well, of course I have a room,” Hanamaki says, chuckling nervously. He clears his throat. “It’s just nothing to look at, really.” He shrugs, hoping Matsukawa will drop it.

“What doesn’t Akira-kun know about Kunimi-san?” Matsukawa asks again, dark eyes steady on Hanamaki’s face. He’s so close. Hanamaki could lean forward just a few inches to kiss him. His upper lip is thicker than his lower one, just slightly. Hanamaki wants to suck on it, nibble on it, draw out all kinds of delicious sounds from him.

“You know, I can’t recall . . .”

“Takahiro.”

Hanamaki starts, not only from hearing his given name but also from the feel of Matsukawa’s hand wrapping around the side of his neck, holding it gently, with his thumb pressed firmly against Hanamaki’s jaw to tilt his face and meet his gaze. It’s just a dream world, so he can’t feel the warmth of it, but he can pretend he does, and that warmth spreads up his neck all the way to his hairline.

“Has Kunimi-san done something to you?”

He’s seconds from giving everything away, he can feel it. He jumps out of Matsukawa’s mind, opening his eyes and sitting up quickly in the center of his cage with a gasp. His heart hasn’t slowed its frantic dance, though now it’s moving out of fear, rather than elation. Pulling his legs up to his chest, he wraps his arms around them, setting his forehead against his knees.

Well. That wasn’t very smart. Matsukawa will for sure know something’s wrong now, but Hanamaki acted on instinct, not thought.

He has no idea what Matsukawa will do with this information. Will he even deem Hanamaki worth the effort of finding out more?

He can still hear Matsukawa’s low, calm voice in his mind, speaking his name with such firmness, commanding his attention. A shiver runs down his spine. He can’t have him. He knows that. He lives inside a cage. He belongs to sadistic witch and his family. He’s a _demon_.

This whole time he’s been playing a game of chicken. Testing his limits, trying to see how close he can get Matsukawa to break and admit his attraction to him.

He wasn’t prepared for real concern, for real care and worry to find their way into those heavily lidded eyes, onto those uneven lips, into that soft voice, that gentle touch.

_Fuck. I’m so fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exhaustion is a constant state of being these days, I'm afraid. Please forgive any errors I might've made in this chapter! I was half-asleep while writing/editing most of it.
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	3. Lighting the Match

As Iwaizumi stands in front of The House of the White Rose headquarters in downtown Tokyo, he feels a cold fist of dread grip his stomach. The last time he stood here, he came for a mission report and left with the portal stone used to send teens to Hinokoku for their trials. That stint forced him to return to Hinokoku to escape the wrath of the coven. When he returned, the coven had deemed him officially missing, presumed dead. For the past year he’s lived in hiding.

He has no idea what waits for him inside.

The building stands a dozen stories tall, glistening white, almost glaring in the sunlight. A fountain stands in the courtyard, shaped like a giant rose, also white. He already knows the interior reflects the same pristine, sterile feel. White marble floors, white walls with framed art of various white objects and scenery, white furniture. Everyone inside wears white, off-white, or gray suits or kimonos, with the emblem of the coven, a white rose surrounded by thorny vines, stitched above the heart. Security personnel wear dark robes, in order to stand out, but they also wear the emblem.

Iwaizumi’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up.

Oikawa didn’t want him to go. He clung to him that morning, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear in an obvious attempt at distraction. Iwaizumi allowed it to work for a while, but he finally had to untangle himself and leave. He can still feel a small ball of warmth in his chest, and he rubs at it absently.

_Tooru._

Straightening his shoulders, Iwaizumi pushes open the doors and steps inside. The receptionist desk is near the front, and he crosses over to it, unfazed by the young woman’s look of surprise when she sees him.

“I-Iwaizumi-san!”

“Hello, Mikasi-san,” Iwaizumi inclines his head, conscious of the mark on his forehead, not just because her eyes jump to it. He does his best to ignore it. “Is Ito-san in? I need to speak with him.”

“Um, j-just one moment!” Mikasi Hana, Iwaizumi’s former classmate, turns to the phone on the desk, picking up the receiver and pressing a few buttons.

Iwaizumi leans against the desk and waits, glancing around the front room. Not many people are there today, which eases some of the anxiety twisting through him. Still, it takes everything within him to not run away back out the door and into the safety of Oikawa’s arms. He agreed to do this, didn’t he? He can’t back out now just because he’s afraid. He doesn’t want to be a coward anymore.

“Oh? So, you’re alive then?”

Iwaizumi glances over to see Matsukawa Issei regarding him with interest, having just stepped off the elevator. He’d been several years above Iwaizumi back in their training days, and Iwaizumi remembers enjoying the young man’s dry sense of humor in the midst of all the serious, straight-faced students around them.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he says with a nod.

Matsukawa steps forward, glancing between him and Misaki behind the desk on the phone. “You still have time to run.”

Iwaizumi’s lips twist in a self-deprecating smile. “Would kind of defeat the purpose of walking in here in the first place.”

Matsukawa shakes his head, patting Iwaizumi’s shoulder as he passes him. “You’re either crazy brave or crazy stupid,” he says. “Good luck.”

Iwaizumi watches him wave over his shoulder before exiting the doors. He can’t really blame the guy for thinking that. He’s probably most definitely the latter, but he straightens when he hears Misaki hang up the phone, turning toward her expectantly.

“He’s in his office. You can go on up,” she says softly, watching him with eyes full of sympathy.

Iwaizumi nods. “Thanks,” he says, brushing that off.

His feet feel like concrete blocks, as he walks towards the elevator doors, hyper aware of the eyes watching him. There are two security guards by the elevators, hands hidden within the sleeves of their robes. Iwaizumi keeps his gaze forward and steps hurriedly inside once the doors open, breathing finally once they close again behind him. He hits the button for the top floor, steps back and waits.

Halfway up he notices his hands starting to tremble. Curling them into fists, he wills them to stop before shoving them into his pockets. They’re not going to kill him, and he can take whatever punishment they give him. He’s doing this for Kindaichi. For Kunimi. For all the kids like them forced to grow up inside a cruel, heartless coven. For the childhood they stole from Iwaizumi, and the childhood of all the teens that came after him and before him.

_I’m doing the right thing._

Ito Masaru’s desk seems designed to make those standing on the other side of it feel small. It’s massive, much bigger than a single man needs, and the chair behind it towers high over Ito’s balding head. He probably picked it in order to seem imposing, but Iwaizumi thinks he simply looks dwarfed by it.

The middle-aged man rests his elbows on the armrests of his chair and temples his fingers, as he peers over them at Iwaizumi.

“So. You’ve seen the error of your ways, and you’d like to return, eh? Tell me, why should I believe you?”

Iwaizumi steps forward, placing the portal pendant stone on the desk in front of the man, before stepping back once more, folding his hands in front of him and bowing slightly. “I was wrong to turn against you. I acted impulsively. I . . . I wanted to remain with Oikawa, even though I knew I’d be turning my back on my . . . family. It was a mistake.”

“Hmm.” Ito reaches out to pick up the pendant, turning it slowly to inspect it from all sides. “Are you not still with Oikawa Tooru?”

Iwaizumi inhales sharply. This is the difficult part. He shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh? Why not? If you were willing to leave your coven, to steal from us, all for love . . . what’s changed?”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth. “It . . . wasn’t fulfilling. Something was missing. I was . . . lonely. I realized I missed my family. My . . . real family. My home. Oikawa . . . he didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. The other covens . . . they’re not like the White Rose. They don’t have the same loyalty. They . . . mix with humans. It was something we fought about often.”

Ito narrows his eyes. “And yet you chose to live with Oikawa Tooru, a witch of dirty blood.”

“Again, I was blinded by love, but once our disagreements grew I-I realized how wrong I’d been.” Iwaizumi clenches his fingers together tightly, wishing his palms weren’t so sweaty. He can feel sweat gathering at his temples, as well. He hates lying. It’s not something he’s generally good at. But this is the only way back in.

“So now you’ve returned to beg my forgiveness, have you? To prostrate yourself before me and ask to be given a seat at the table?”

Iwaizumi swallows hard and bows deeper. His chest aches. “Yes, sir. I . . . I want to come home.”

Ito stands from his seat. He steps around the desk, approaching Iwaizumi. He lifts his hand to take Iwaizumi’s chin, forcing him to straighten and look him in the eye. His fingers are cold and dry, his skin soft, too soft. Iwaizumi forces himself to meet the man’s gaze, hoping his face betrays nothing of his true thoughts.

“It’s true we have suffered from the loss of one of our best Hunters,” Ito muses, eyes searching Iwaizumi’s features. “You have been missed, Hajime.”

His hand moves to slide over the side of Iwaizumi’s face, caressing it. It takes everything within him to not jerk away from the touch. The man’s fingers slide into Iwaizumi’s hair, gripping it suddenly and twisting, forcing Iwaizumi’s head down and to the side, as Ito inspects the word “Traitor” carved into the skin of his forehead in kanji.

“Yet, you have been punished once before for your insubordination. How do I know the next one will stick? How do I know you will not betray us again, hmm?”

“I won’t,” Iwaizumi manages through gritted teeth, pain tingling along his scalp and making his eyes water. “Oikawa and I are done. I have nothing to tempt me away.”

He waits, heart pounding, as Ito continues to study him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to pull away or make any excuses. He’s said what he rehearsed, and Ito will either believe him or he won’t.

It’s an agonizing few seconds before Ito’s face breaks into a grin, and he releases Iwaizumi’s hair, patting his cheek sharply.

“That’s a good boy,” he says, before moving back behind his desk once more. “Of course you may return. This is your family.” He lifts his arms to the side in a magnanimous gesture. “You must still be punished, however.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his off-white kimono. “A period of probation. You will work here in our headquarters where I and my staff can keep an eye on you. You will serve as our janitor, which will hopefully remind you to be more humble in the future, and you will be monitored lest your fingers become sticky once more.” He picks up the pendant from the desk, pocketing it in one swift movement.

Iwaizumi bows deeply. “I accept my punishment,” he says, thinking it could’ve been so much worse. As soon as he thinks that, however, he stiffens, realizing that can’t be all.

Ito speaks again. “You will also bring meals to our young cousin downstairs.”

Iwaizumi frowns, remembering his time “downstairs.” The repurposed basement the coven uses as a dungeon of sorts. Who are they keeping there now? He knows now isn’t the time to ask, however, so he simply nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Ah, and one more thing.” Ito reaches over to the phone on his desk, pressing a button and bending forward to speak. “Hana-kun, please send Yuuji-kun to my office. Tell him to bring the collar.”

_Collar? The hell?_

“Ito-san?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to allow you free range of your magic while you’re working in such close quarters with people who still don’t trust you,” Ito says with a small smile.

The door opens behind Iwaizumi, and he steps back, as a young man in the dark robes of a security guard enters, carrying what looks like a metal ring in his hands, a chain attached to it. Iwaizumi recognizes him. Terushima Yuuji, another old classmate. He smirks when he sees Iwaizumi, an unpleasant look on his face.

“Ah! Iwaizumi-san. I see you’ve returned to us,” he says, stepping toward him. “Grow tired of fucking your dirty-blooded boytoy already?”

Iwaizumi’s hands clench into fists automatically. Even as hot anger rushes to his face, he tells himself not to react, that that’s what Terushima wants, and he’s supposed to be broken up with Oikawa anyway.

“Now, now, Yuuji-kun,” Ito says, holding up his hands. “Hajime-kun is still a part of our family, even if he did stray for a while. He’s accepted his punishment, and you will monitor him while he’s on probation.”

Iwaizumi grimaces, and even Terushima looks surprised.

“Seriously?! Why do _I_ have to do that?”

“Did you two not study and train together? I encourage you to rebuild your bond of brotherhood during this time.”

“We were never like that,” Iwaizumi admits. Terushima’s always been a punk, even back in school. He goofed off in class, skipped often, and harassed everyone. He’s honestly surprised he even got the position of security guard, considering he treated all his studies and training like a joke.

“Nevertheless.” Ito gestures toward Terushima, indicating something Iwaizumi doesn’t understand.

The next thing he knows, something cold and metal closes around his neck, and he feels a chill run through him. Reaching up, he feels the collar Terushima’s placed there. It’s not tight, he can fit his fingers over it easily enough, but there’s something wrong with it. A faint vibration of some kind. He’s not sure if he’s hearing it or feeling it, but it unnerves him. He tugs at it, but it doesn’t give. Terushima smirks at him, holding the end of the chain attached to it. He yanks on it sharply, and Iwaizumi feels the collar suddenly shrink around his neck, choking him. Gasping, he digs his fingers into the rim of it, where it’s pressing tight against his skin, cutting off his air. A few seconds later, it loosens, and he inhales sharply.

“The fuck?!” he rasps, glaring at Terushima.

“This is just a precaution,” Ito explains calmly. “The enchantment on it suppresses the magic in your aura. You cannot access it during your time on probation. You are to wear it at all times, even at your parents’ house. It cannot be removed except by me. The chain is to be used as a warning, if you prove insolent or step out line. Do not abuse it, Yuuji-kun.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Terushima flips the guy a casual salute.

Iwaizumi’s mind reels. Unable to access his magic? That will make investigating much more difficult. Even if he can give Terushima the slip, how will he get past locked doors or security cameras? And Oikawa . . .

He reaches for his chest instinctively, breathing a soft sigh of relief once he realizes he can still feel the ball of warmth there, beating softly like a faint second heartbeat. The Infinite Bond holds steady; apparently too strong a spell for even the collar to suppress.

This is a kink in the plan, definitely, but knowing he’s still connected to Oikawa, even slightly, keeps him from despairing.

_You’re still with me. You still believe in me._

That’s enough. It has to be.

Ito tells Terushima to give Iwaizumi a tour of the building. Iwaizumi has been to headquarters plenty of times, but he’s never seen the entire thing, so Terushima starts at the top floor and works his way down, bragging all the while about how he got this job as soon as he obtained his license and all the privileges that come from working at headquarters. (“Not that _you’ll_ get any of those being just a janitor.”) He gets distracted easily by various coworkers, especially the pretty ones, and Iwaizumi uses each stop in the hallways to scope out where the security cameras are.

The collar around his neck is humiliating, especially since Terushima insists on holding the end of the chain as he leads him around, like a dog on a leash. He figures that’s the point. Another part of his punishment. He endures it silently, though he does shoot Terushima a glare each time the other “accidentally” tugs too hard and triggers the choke hold.

They finally reach the first floor, which mainly holds the lobby, a security office, the cafeteria, and the janitor closet. Iwaizumi catches sight of the door that leads to the basement near the back of the building, beside a different door that leads to the parking garage behind it. He remembers what Ito told him about the “young cousin downstairs,” and he turns to Terushima before the other can lead him away.

“Who’s downstairs? Ito-san mentioned I’d be bringing them meals?”

“Huh? Oh.” Terushima glances toward the door in question. “I don’t know. It’s some big secret, apparently. I’ve heard the other guards talking about it, though. They say it’s a weapon Ito’s keeping locked up in case any Class 2 or Class 1 demons try to escape their dimensions into our world.”

“A . . . weapon?” Iwaizumi echoes, eyebrows raising.

Terushima shrugs. “That’s what they say. Personally, I’ve never gone down there. Something’s seriously off about whatever it is. Major bad vibes. You can feel it from the stairwell.”

Iwaizumi frowns. A weapon with bad vibes . . . that needs to eat? Could it be a demon under contract? Would Ito really risk keeping a _demon_ below the White Rose headquarters? Realizing that this could work in his favor if he can get evidence of it, he grabs hold of the chain dangling between him and Terushima, pulling it out of the other’s limp grasp.

“Hey!” Terushima makes a grab for it, but Iwaizumi stuffs it down the front of his sweater, shivering as the cold metal links make contact with his warm skin. “Don’t think I won’t feel you up to get that back!”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I’m going to need to go down there so I know where to go when I bring it its food. Unless, you want to take me?”

He watches as Terushima visibly shudders. “Ugh. Fine. It’s the very last door down the hall. The cafeteria makes its meals. You just ask for the ‘young cousin’s’ food and they’ll give you a tray. You open the panel on the door, pull out the box that’s there, set the tray in it, then push it through and shut the panel. Don’t talk to it.”

Iwaizumi nods, filing all that information away for when he’ll need it later. “Will I need any keys to get down there?”

“Nice try. I’ll open the door for you.” Terushima shakes his head, stepping over to the door. He pulls a ring of keys on a retractable string from inside his robes, and Iwaizumi sees a flash of his belt where the string is attached. He opens the door then steps to the side, gesturing for Iwaizumi to continue. “Don’t take too long.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond, moving forward instead to approach the steps leading downwards into darkness. He feels for a light switch on the wall and finds one after a moment, clicking it on. A dull yellow light illuminates the narrow stairwell, and that’s nearly creepy enough to set Iwaizumi on edge. Reminding himself he’s going to have to get used to this anyway, he marches down the steps without a glance back. He hears the door slam shut behind him, nearly missing the next step as his heart jumps into his throat.

_It’s fine. You’re fine. Quit being a wimp._

Gritting his teeth, he continues. He’s about halfway down when he feels a wave of the “bad vibes” Terushima mentioned. There’s definitely something off. It’s not . . . _bad_ in the way Iwaizumi expects, more unsettling. It feels like someone running sharp nails along his skin, not hard enough to draw blood but making him aware of the fact it could at any moment. He definitely doesn’t remember feeling this the last time he was down here. Have they only recently summoned this creature?

He can feel his pulse jumping erratically against the hard metal of the collar, can hear each shallow breath he’s taking, as he comes to the end of the stairwell and looks down the long corridor stretching in front of him. There are heavy metal doors along each wall with a single barred window in each. He remembers those doors, the damp air, the stale smell of standing water and urine. He doesn’t smell anything now, and he guesses the weapon must be the only thing in here, for now.

His feet make too much noise, as he walks toward the door at the end of the corridor. The florescent lights overhead are bright, naked columns, humming softly. It’s like they intentionally designed this place to feel like something out of a horror movie. That strange tingling sensation grows stronger, though not enough to actually hurt. It feels like a barrier, a ward of some kind, screaming at him to go away.

He pushes through.

There are no security cameras down here, he notices. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he snaps a few photos as he goes down, knowing they’ll probably not be enough on their own, but if he can snap a picture of the actual demon . . .

He slows to a stop a few feet away from the final door. It stands directly in front of him, black and foreboding. Like the others, there’s a barred window at eye-level (or it would be eye-level to someone slightly taller than him), and a panel for the food drop. The barrier has grown thick, shoving against him with enough strength to throw off his equilibrium. The walls seem to tilt slightly, but he can’t tell if they’re moving or he is.

“Oi! Cut that out,” he calls out sharply, deciding enough is enough. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Immediately the dizziness fades, the barrier retreating until all he can feel is that gentle tingle from before. Iwaizumi exhales slowly, some of the tension inside him fading. It instantly returns, however, as a pair of dark blue eyes suddenly appear in the window. Iwaizumi jumps back a step, startled, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. The blue eyes narrow, and they look human, half-hidden behind a curtain of thick black hair. Iwaizumi’s seen Kenma take the form of a human before, though, so that doesn’t negate the possibility that this could still be a demon.

“Uh, hi,” he says, not sure what else to say.

“You’re new.”

The voice sounds male, low and soft, speaking Japanese. Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck, flinching as he feels the metal collar. For a moment he forgot about that.

“Uh, yeah. Ito-san assigned me to bring you your meals for now. Not sure how long that’ll be, though.”

The eyes continue to stare at him. They shift down to the collar, as it moves slightly beneath Iwaizumi’s hand. He lowers it, stuffing his hands inside his pockets in an effort to look as non-threatening as possible.

“Why do they keep you locked up down here? Do you know?”

The eyes blink. “You’re not supposed to talk to me,” comes the quiet answer.

“Yeah, well, take it from someone who knows what it’s like to be cooped up down here with no one to talk to: it sucks,” Iwaizumi offers with a soft chuckle. Now that the barrier is gone, he’s surprised to find he doesn’t feel at all threatened by this person. That could just be a farce, though. Lulling him into a false sense of security. Aren’t demons supposed to be tricky like that?

“You’re . . . like me?”

Iwaizumi feels something move against his chest. He stiffens before realizing it’s the chain, slowly rising from beneath his sweater. It slips out on its own, dangling in the air in front of him. Suddenly uneasy once more, Iwaizumi stands completely still. The chain doesn’t move, though, simply hovers in front of him, as the eyes continue to watch him curiously.

“Ah, it’s a punishment. I ran away from the coven so they’re suppressing my magic while they figure out if they can trust me again.” Iwaizumi frowns, realizing something. “Wait, if you have a collar like this, how are you doing that?” He gestures to the chain.

It falls, smacking against his chest and stomach lightly. The eyes look away.

“I can still do small things.”

“But not enough to get out of here, I’m guessing.”

“Ito-san says I can’t be around other people. I’m . . . dangerous.”

Iwaizumi’s frown deepens. What exactly is this guy? Carefully, he takes a small step forward. “You got a name?” He places a hand on his chest. “I’m Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi Hajime.”

The eyes flit back to him, wide with surprise. Iwaizumi wonders if he’s never been asked that before.

“I—”

“YO! IWAIZUMI! WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MAN? GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!”

Iwaizumi grimaces, glancing over his shoulder to where he can see a pale light shining down the steps from the open door above it. “JUST A SECOND!” he yells. He turns back around, but the eyes have disappeared. He waits for a moment, but they don’t reappear. Sighing, he turns and makes his way back up to the main building.

“You weren’t talking to it, were you?” Terushima asks, peering at him after he’s shut the door.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, shoving his hands into his pockets again. “No.”

Terushima narrows his eyes but apparently can’t be bothered to argue, because he simply picks up the chain again and turns to leave. “All right then, little doggy, follow me back to the janitor closet to get your cleaning supplies. You’ve got a lot of work to do!”

Iwaizumi spares another glance back at the door, as they leave, more curious than ever as to what Ito’s really keeping down there, locked away in the dark.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since Oikawa waltzed into The Healthy Vine with a Hell Hound in tow, and Yahaba’s certain said Hound will send him to an early grave. Despite spending his nights at Oikawa’s, Kyoutani shows up promptly each morning at the start of the workday, following Watari around as he explains how the clinic and apothecary work. Yahaba has no idea how much Kyoutani’s retaining, as his expression never changes throughout. His scowls and growls and grunts continually scare away customers, though, until finally Watari gives him the task of taking care of the daily inventory and deals with the customers himself.

He’s so quiet, Yahaba consistently finds himself startled, walking around one corner or another to find him there scowling down at the words on his clipboard, comparing the characters to those on the item in his hands. Yahaba’s pretty sure he’s going to have a heart attack one day.

Even though he’s supposed to stay in the apothecary section of the building, Yahaba keeps looking up from his textbooks to find Kyoutani standing beside his desk, staring at him. After the fourth or fifth time this happens, Yahaba finally shouts at him to _stop_.

“You’re going to scare away all the patients if you keep standing there looking like that!” he exclaims.

Kyoutani frowns and points at Yahaba’s face. “You scare,” he says flatly.

Yahaba bristles. “I’m perfectly pleasant, thank you very much,” he insists.

Kyoutani snorts, rolling his eyes as he lowers his hand.

“I _am_! You just! You’re just! Ugh, just go back to doing inventory. You know, the job you’re _supposed_ to be doing?” Yahaba sits back down, running a hand through his hair and trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

Kyoutani growls and turns to leave, and Yahaba absolutely does _not_ check him out from behind as he goes. He’s really filled out the past couple of weeks, thanks to consistent meals, their training sessions, and a workout routine he completes every day during his lunch break. Yahaba’s gotten used to seeing him doing various exercises in the back room, not that he’s going back there to watch him or anything. But it’s interesting to see the different ones he does, as some moves he doesn’t recognize. They must be from Hinokoku.

They train together every other day, giving Yahaba time to rest between sessions. He needs it. Kyoutani pulls no punches, and Yahaba continuously finds himself on the ground, winded and sore.

“You could take it a little easy on me, you know!” he exclaims after the first couple times this happens. “I’ve never sparred with a demon before!”

Kyoutani growls. “No easy. You work hard. Hard as you can. No good if you don’t.” He shakes his head, taking a step back and leaving Yahaba to scramble to his feet on his own.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a Hell creature like you! I break more easily!”

Kyoutani raises an eyebrow, and Yahaba swears he can see a smirk curl the corner of his lips. “You baby?”

“_No!_” Yahaba exclaims indignantly.

Kyoutani looks away with a muffled sound that Yahaba realizes is a laugh.

“Shut up. Just . . . let’s go again.”

Watari seems to find each of their sessions wildly entertaining, hanging out by the sidelines with various snacks as he watches, offering no help whenever Kyoutani slams Yahaba against the ground or the wall or flings him halfway across the Eastern Star’s training room. Yahaba always gets up, though, and Kyoutani seems to respect that. After two weeks, he’s even grown fast enough to avoid some of Kyoutani’s attacks. Not all of them, but some. Once he’s able to get away, he finds he has enough time to fire off a spell or two, which adds something new to the sessions. He can tell Kyoutani likes this new development. There’s a new gleam in his eyes each time he dives one way or another to avoid Yahaba’s magic.

He’s not _completely_ satisfied, apparently, as after only two sessions with magic thrown in the mix, he stops and shakes his head.

“No good,” he states flatly.

Yahaba’s breathing hard, hair sticking to his forehead and back of his neck. He flicks a strand out of his eyes irritably. “What do you mean?” he asks. “That was a good spell!”

Kyoutani shakes his head again. “Not strong enough.”

Yahaba frowns. “It’s a difficult spell! It takes up a lot of energy.”

“You can do more.”

Yahaba sighs, grabbing the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. When he lowers it, Kyoutani’s glaring at him, his neck and ears red. “What?!” What could he possibly have done to piss him off _now_?

Kyoutani steps closer, much closer. He’s directly in front of Yahaba, frowning at him so intently, Yahaba feels a shiver run down his spine. He never stands this close to him. What—

Kyoutani grabs his wrist and spins him around so his back is to Kyoutani’s chest. He yelps in surprise, heart pounding a rapid staccato rhythm against his ribs. Kyoutani never touches him unless he’s landing a punch or a kick or flinging him around as they spar, and Yahaba hasn’t tried to touch him after that first time. But now he has his hands around both of Yahaba’s wrists and is bringing them up to his sternum.

“You hold magic here,” he says, his gruff voice inches from Yahaba’s ear. He’s shorter, so his chin brushes against Yahaba’s shoulder, but Yahaba doesn’t dare move. His breath is caught in his throat, and he has no idea what’s going on suddenly. “Hold it tight. Hold it long. So long it burns. Then, you let go.” He moves Yahaba’s hands outward in a push. “Much stronger. Do this many times, then comes easier. You be strong and fast at same time.”

He releases Yahaba and steps back, leaving him staring blankly at his wrists.

“Uh,” he states intelligently.

Watari giggles from where he’s sitting atop a stack of mats, snapping Yahaba out of his daze. His face feels much too hot, as he turns around and frowns at Kyoutani. “How do _you_ know so much about magic?” he asks sharply.

Kyoutani rolls his eyes. “I know. Master was Class 1 demon. Very powerful. See him fight in many battles.”

“Is that how you got your scars?” Yahaba asks before he can think better of it. He immediately regrets it, as Kyoutani grows still. It’s not that Yahaba’s been _looking_, but they’re not hard to miss. Kyoutani wears a light, long-sleeved shirt and long track pants when they spar, but sometimes his sleeves or pant legs will ride up, his shirt will shift just enough to show a sliver of his stomach or lower back, and Yahaba will catch a glimpse of the marred skin.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. He’s never asked about them, and Kyoutani’s never shared. He just assumed the other had gotten them through various fights while in Hinokoku, but considering the way he reacted when Yahaba reached for him the first time they met, and considering how he looks now, not meeting Yahaba’s gaze, scowling at some invisible pest beside him, he’s starting to wonder if there’s more to them than meets the eye.

“Some come from battle,” Kyoutani answers, surprising him. “Not all.”

Yahaba doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t want to know what “not all” means . . . except that he does. He wants to know. Kyoutani’s a complete mystery to him, but he’s not what Yahaba expected when Oikawa shoved him off on him. He’s not the savage monster Yahaba feared would attack him unprovoked at any given moment and eat him alive.

Inhaling slowly, Yahaba turns toward one of the targets set up against the wall. They’re for others to use (he and Kyoutani have never practiced with them at least), but he suddenly doesn’t feel like testing this out on Kyoutani just yet. He looks down at his hands, closing his eyes, then, as he exhales. Gathering his magic, he does what Kyoutani instructed. Instead of immediately casting a spell to form a sword or a spear with it, he holds it in, allowing it to grow even as it condenses. He imagines forming a tight ball in the center of his chest, holding his hands up in front of it like he’s grasping the sphere, though nothing’s there.

He grits his teeth, as the pressure grows. He can feel sweat beading at his temples and upper lip, can sense the stares of Watari and Kyoutani beside him. He ignores them, focusing on the magic building up against his ribs like water against a dam. It starts to burn, searing him from the inside out. White flashes behind his eyes, as he releases it, the attack spell tumbling from his lips in a yell as he shoves his hands forward toward the target.

A blast of golden light, brighter than he’s ever seen it before, bursts from his palms, knocking him backwards with the force of it. He slams hard against the mat beneath him on the floor, his vision going black for a moment. When it clears, he can see spots in front of his eyes, floating in the air.

“Whoa,” Watari breathes from somewhere above him.

Yahaba sits up on his elbows, blinking over at the target. Or, where the target would be, at least. It’s completely obliterated, shards of wood scattered across the floor. There’s a smoking hole in the wall where it should have been. Yahaba stares. He’s _never_ done that much damage with a single shot before.

A hand lowers in front of him. Yahaba blinks at it for a moment before realizing it’s Kyoutani, offering to help him up. Still too stunned to be surprised by the gesture, he grasps Kyoutani’s forearm, using him as leverage to hoist himself up to his feet. Kyoutani’s arm flexes beneath his fingers as he pulls, the muscle he’s gained the past couple of weeks evident. Yahaba releases him quickly, taking a step back.

“That . . . that was _awesome_,” he can’t help but admit, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Kyoutani studies him a moment before nodding once and looking away, his ears red. Yahaba laughs, it bubbling out of him before he can stop it.

“Wow! I can’t believe I did that!”

“Woohoo! Go Yahaba-kun!” Watari claps and whistles from his vantage point.

“How did you—” Yahaba turns toward Kyoutani, but he’s walking toward the door. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“Food,” Kyoutani grunts over his shoulder.

Yahaba watches him go, perplexed. Kyoutani’s usually the one who forgets to eat, causing Yahaba and Watari to fuss at him. Shaking his head, he turns to grin at Watari.

“I’m going to see how many times I can do that before I’m tapped out,” he admits, hoping Watari will take over looking out for Kyoutani for a while.

“Right! Got it! Don’t work yourself too hard, though,” Watari says, packing up his snacks and hopping off his perch before heading for the door.

Yahaba turns back to what’s left of the target he destroyed, guessing he should probably leave the rest alone. He spends the next couple of hours using the same technique, this time casting spells to form the magic into different weapons, each one denser than the next, until he can hold a solid sword in his hand for a maximum of three minutes. It’s exhausting, but as he swings the sword and hears the _swish_ as it cuts through the air just like a real one, he can’t help but grin.

_I’m getting stronger!_

He can barely make a needle by the time he’s done. His arms feel like jelly, and his legs aren’t much better after all the tension. He stumbles toward the bath and showers, tossing his sweat-soaked clothes into a corner to pack up later. A bath sounds so good right now.

Steam fogs the glass door, as he steps inside the tile-covered room, indicating someone’s already running the hot water inside. Dressed in a towel, Yahaba moves toward one of the shower heads, sitting on the stool provided to being rinsing off, humming softly under his breath. Today was a good training day, though he can already feel fatigue setting in. Tomorrow is going to hurt, but he doesn’t dwell on that.

Once he’s thoroughly rinsed off, he sheds the towel and steps into the bath, sighing contentedly as he finds a seat and leans back against the wall of it, allowing the hot water to soak his sore muscles. He feels the water move and glances over to see Kyoutani’s head emerge. A yelp catches in his throat, as he immediately straightens, knees jumping to his chest, as he wraps his arms around them.

“What are you doing here?!” he exclaims.

Kyoutani glances at the water then up at Yahaba, giving him a dead-eyed look that says, “take a wild fucking guess.”

Yahaba swallows hard, turning his gaze toward the ceiling as Kyoutani moves to sit down across from him. When he does, Yahaba can see the roadmap of scars that cover his chest. He can’t help but stare at them, extending over the wide expanse of his chest. He really _has_ filled out more. Yahaba’s never seen him without clothes before, but from the way his clothes hung on him, the way his cheekbones pressed painfully into his skin, he could tell how malnourished the Hound was.

Well, he’s not anymore, that’s for sure.

“I thought you went to eat with Watari,” he explains his startled reaction.

“Did. Came back.”

“_Why_?” Can’t he let Yahaba have a single moment to himself that’s not going to the toilets or sleeping?

“Bath better here,” Kyoutani says with a shrug.

Yahaba tells himself he’s being ridiculous. It’s not like he hasn’t bathed with other guys before. Plenty of Eastern Star coven members use this training facility, and Yahaba has showered and bathed with many of them. But Kyoutani _bothers_ him. The Hell Hound sets his teeth on edge, even as Yahaba tries to reason with himself that the guy isn’t all that bad, considering.

“Right. Well . . . I’m trying to relax here, so . . .” He looks at Kyoutani pointedly.

Kyoutani blinks back, his face a blank, frowny mask.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m saying I want to be _alone_!” Yahaba elaborates, waving one arm up and down for emphasis.

Kyoutani’s frown darkens. He stands abruptly, and Yahaba’s next breath catches in his throat, as he finds himself staring. The scars really are everywhere. From his chest, shoulders, and arms, down to his stomach and abdomen . . . across his hips and thighs. He swallows hard, doing his best not to stare at the very, well, _impressive_ dick hanging between those thick thighs.

_Do all Hell Hounds look like that?_ he finds himself wondering, doing his utmost best to keep his expression as plain and unaffected as possible.

Then Kyoutani turns to get out of the bath, and Yahaba gets an eyeful of his broad back, the scars criss-crossing from shoulders to thighs again, even over the round firmness of his ass . . .

Yahaba buries his face in his knees, telling himself the flush he feels is just from the bath. It’s supposed to be hot in here. It’s really hot in here.

But really, honestly, it’s not fair for a Hell Hound to look that good, even with all the scars. The guy is a _demonic creature_ from a _Hell_ dimension. Not even an actual demon, some demon’s _pet_. Being attracted to him is like being attracted to a _dog_. Isn’t it?

Yahaba doesn’t breathe easier until he hears the glass door slam shut behind Kyoutani and he’s alone in the room. He sinks down beneath the water, then, trying his best to clear his head. This is stupid. The guy doesn’t even like him, so it’s not like it would go anywhere even if Yahaba wanted it to. Which he _doesn’t_. A little attraction is nothing. It means nothing.

It still takes him the better part of an hour to calm down enough to leave. He gets dressed in some fresh clothes he brought with him, stuffing his stinky training ones into his bag. Once he slips on his street shoes and flings the bag over his shoulder, he makes his way outside to head home. He doesn’t see Watari anywhere, so he must’ve done the same after eating.

Kyoutani’s still there, though, standing by the curb, watching the lights above the crosswalk turn green, then red, then green again, then red again.

“You’re supposed to walk on green, dummy,” Yahaba tells him, keeping his voice completely neutral.

Kyoutani jumps, glancing sidelong at him warily. Yahaba stuffs his hands inside his coat pockets, watching his breath as it curls from his mouth in a cloud of white mist. Kyoutani’s hair is still damp, the short golden strands just brushing against the tip of his ear, and he’s shivering through his coat. Yahaba purses his lips. Being from Hinokoku must mean he’s susceptible to chilly weather.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” he says with a sigh, before grabbing Kyoutani’s sleeve and giving it a gentle tug.

Kyoutani flinches away from his hand, but Yahaba stifles any feelings he has about that. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a pretty good ramen place that way. It’s not as good as the one me and Watari usually go to, but it’ll be enough to warm us up enough to walk home.”

Kyoutani stares at him, not seeming to understand. Yahaba rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he says, gesturing for Kyoutani to follow him, as he walks down the sidewalk toward the restaurant. It takes a moment for Kyoutani to move, but then he hears the second set of footfalls behind him.

“Your advice was pretty good,” he has to admit after a moment. “It did make me stronger. Not sure how quickly I’ll be able to do that in battle, though. It takes a lot of concentration. I’ll probably be dead before I can make anything fast enough. Might be better to just stick with enchanted weapons until I’ve mastered it.”

Kyoutani grunts noncommittally. Yahaba wonders if he should apologize for snapping at him earlier in the bath, but he really, _really_ doesn’t want to remember the awkwardness of all that, so he doesn’t. Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he leads the way into the restaurant as they arrive.

He finds a booth in the corner and quickly orders some tea along with his ramen. Kyoutani sits frowning at the menu for a while, before Yahaba remembers he can’t read.

“Shit, uh, here,” he says, leaning forward to reach across the table and point to one he likes. “This one’s good. You should try it.”

Kyoutani leans in to peer down at it, his face suddenly inches from Yahaba’s. He sits back quickly, fighting the flush that’s rising to his cheeks. When the server returns, Kyoutani points to the one Yahaba indicated, grunting the affirmative with the server reads the name.

“We should find you a Japanese tutor,” Yahaba muses, setting his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand as he observes Kyoutani thoughtfully. “You don’t have to know it well it to pass as human, but it’ll probably make a lot of things easier.”

Kyoutani stares back at him. “You?” he asks.

Yahaba blinks, leaning back with an incredulous laugh. “Do I look like I have the time for that?” He shakes his head. “When I’m not working, I’m studying, and when I’m not studying, I’m training. I can’t add teaching you how to read and write to the list.”

Kyoutani frowns. “Watari?”

“Mmm, maybe? But he’s working and studying too, and even though he’s not training with us, you are, and that limits his options as far as time.” Yahaba curls his hands around his teacup as the server sets it down in front of him. He takes a long sip, feeling much better as the liquid warms him from the inside out. His limbs feel heavy, and he’s pretty sure he could fall asleep right then and there.

Kyoutani’s still frowning thoughtfully down at the table. Yahaba nudges his foot with his own, and Kyoutani jolts the contact, gaze lifting. Yahaba stifles a smile.

“You can still ask him if you want,” he offers. “Maybe the two of you can work out some kind of schedule.”

He’s not sure why he’s being so accommodating all of a sudden, but he finds he doesn’t hate it. Kyoutani’s non-angry frowns are kind of cute, and it’s nice to not feel like he’s anticipating a punch every time he opens his mouth. Of course, he also likes Kyoutani’s annoyed frowns, though it’s probably not a good idea to go too far deep into _why_ he does.

The ramen smells absolutely heavenly when it arrives, and the two of them attack their meals like a couple of hungry wolves. Almost immediately, Yahaba can feel his body growing sluggish. The warmth of the food and tea combined with his exhaustion and the sensation of a full stomach has him nodding off over his bowl. He nearly lands nose-first into it, startling awake when he feels the rim hit his forehead. Kyoutani laughs.

“Shut up,” Yahaba mutters, too tired to keep his cheeks from growing hot. “Your technique wore me out more than usual. I’m pretty sure I could sleep for days.”

He manages to find enough energy to flag down the server and pay, though it takes way too much effort to pull himself to his feet. He staggers toward the door, feeling drunk, and he almost tips over completely to land on the sidewalk, if it’s not for the strong arm that catches him around the waist.

“Whoa, hey,” Yahaba chuckles. “Ask a guy out first, why don’t you?”

“What?” Kyoutani’s wearing his confused frown, now.

“You going to carry me home, big guy?” Yahaba grins, booping his nose lightly with his finger. _I’m delirious._

Kyoutani looks at him, completely dumbfounded. Yahaba shakes his head to clear it, telling himself to get it together before he makes a complete fool out of himself.

“Ah, don’t mind. I’m fine,” he insists, pulling away from Kyoutani and attempting to remain upright on his own.

He manages to take a few steps forward before careening into a lamp post, smacking his forehead against it. “SHIT! OW! FUCK!”

“Dummy,” Kyoutani mutters, shaking his head.

“Hey, who are you calling—whoa!”

The world is suddenly upside down, as Kyoutani grabs him and hoists him up over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Yahaba blinks, finding himself face to bicep with Kyoutani. He has to stifle a giggle at how completely ridiculous this is. He really shouldn’t have expended so much energy.

“Put me down! Do you even know where my house is?” he asks, finding himself completely helpless, as he doesn’t have the strength to get down on his own.

Kyoutani just grunts, starting forward, one arm wrapped around Yahaba’s leg, the other keeping a firm hold on his arm.

“Oh, well, I guess if you’re going to eat me it might as well be while I’m full of good ramen. I wonder if I’ll taste like the noodles or the broth. Maybe both?”

“Talk too much,” Kyoutani mutters.

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure I’m drunk on exhaustion. Had no idea you could do that. Did you know?! Hey, Kyoutani-kun, did you make me this tired on purpose so you could take advantage of me?”

“_No_,” it comes out as a growl. “Yahaba weak.”

“I’m not though. I mean, I’m working not to be,” Yahaba sighs, dropping his head down against Kyoutani’s bicep, bumping gently against it as the Hound continues walking. “I know I’m not as strong as Oikawa-san. I’m an average magic user by all accounts. I can pass my license exam, but not in any way that’ll leave a impression. I want to be known for something, you know? That’s probably shallow of me. Wanting people to hire me because I’m so good at fighting and magic. But . . . to make a lasting impact on someone . . . I think that would make me feel good, like, proud of myself, you know? I think I could say I’m an exceptional witch if I can do that.”

Kyoutani doesn’t respond.

Yahaba finds himself drifting in and out of a dozing state, too tired to even continue his sleepy ramblings. He doesn’t remember getting home. One minute he’s swaying lightly on Kyoutani’s shoulders, the next he’s feeling the softness of his pillow beneath his head and the warmth of a blanket tucked around him. Did Kyoutani bring him all the way inside? Do his parents think he was out drinking all night? What did they make of Kyoutani? Will they think their son is hanging out with delinquents?

He doesn’t have time to worry much longer before he drifts off to sleep again, the sight and feel of Kyoutani’s warm, calloused hands wrapped firmly around his wrists not far from his mind.

* * *

The past two weeks have been the most stressful of Kunimi’s life, he’s pretty sure. Not only has Kindaichi been avoiding him for some reason, Hanamaki has insisted on training with him whenever Matsukawa _isn’t_ around, which means instead of practicing his spells and fighting at the same time, he has to do one and then the other, which makes for longer days with less time to nap. He’s pretty sure his parents are planning something, too, because they always stop talking whenever Kunimi enters the room. It’s not uncommon for his father to be distant and his mother to be cold, but it’s like they’re actively trying to be, now, and it makes him uneasy.

He’s pretty sure Kindaichi’s mad at him for going to Iwaizumi to cut him out of the plan, but he thought he’d be over it by now. They never go longer than a few days without seeing each other, but Kindaichi hasn’t been over and with Kunimi’s new routine thanks to Hanamaki avoiding Matsukawa, he has no time to sneak out to go to Kindaichi’s (and he’s too exhausted to go after dark). He’s tried texting, even calling, but to no avail. Kindaichi refuses to answer.

He’s pretty sure Hanamaki is upset with him too, not that he can really blame him. Guilt twists his stomach whenever he thinks of how he refused to help Kindaichi in his plot to take down the White Rose and consequently set the demon free. He can only imagine what his father would do to him, though, if he found out Kunimi assisted with any of it. Maybe it’s fear or maybe it’s self-preservation, but Kunimi refuses to get involved.

He just wants things to go back to how they were before. He was okay with his life, back then. It wasn’t the happiest, but this is much more troublesome. He has no idea what’s going on between Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and he misses his best friend.

“Did you two have bad sex or something?” Kunimi asks Matsukawa one day, watching as he nearly snaps his pencil in half.

“_No_,” he says flatly, shaking his head. “Focus on your spells.”

“Lessons are boring now,” he sighs, looking down at his textbook but not reading anything.

Matsukawa chuckles softly. “You mean you can’t just doze off or sneak away to see Kindaichi-kun.”

Kunimi glances up at him, not missing the wistful look in his eyes. “Did you guys have a fight?”

“No, and it wouldn’t concern you if we did. Now, _focus_.”

Kunimi wants to point out that it already concerns him, but he turns his gaze back to his book, wondering if he can get Hanamaki to tell him what happened. Then again, that would require actually talking to the demon, which he hasn’t really done in two weeks either. He doesn’t really know what to say when the first thing he feels every time he sees him is guilt. He’s already apologized, though, and there isn’t much else he can do. So they simply spar, and Hanamaki corrects his form or has him try a new attack or defensive stance. It’s effective training, if dispassionate, and Kunimi feels worse off than before each time.

His birthday looms ever nearer, and Kunimi can’t help but wonder if he’ll have anything to come back to once he leaves for Hinokoku.

He’s checking his phone for what feels like the fifth time in twenty minutes when his mother calls him into the tearoom. It’s a little alcove off to the side of the dining area where she entertains friends outside of her dinner parties. Kunimi’s never allowed in there unless she invites him in to meet someone. He figures that’s what going on now, though he has no idea who she could be introducing him to. He already knows most if not all of the White Rose coven members, thanks to his father being on the council.

He recognizes the two women seated across from his mother almost immediately. Misaki Hana and her mother stand when they see him, bowing respectfully. He bows in return, wondering what Hana’s doing here. His mother and her mother are old friends, but he never sees Hana outside the House of the White Rose headquarters where she works as a receptionist. She’s a few years older than him, so their social circles never cross, really. Not that Kunimi’s social circle is that wide. It mainly just consists of Kindaichi and a couple other guys from their class.

“Akira-kun, you know Misaki-san and her daughter Hana-kun,” his mother introduces.

“Yes. Hello,” he says, wondering again why he’s here.

“We’ve been discussing something rather important the past couple weeks, and I felt you should be told what’s going on now that things are in the final stages.”

Hana’s staring down at her hands clasped in front of her. She seems embarrassed for some reason, but Kunimi has no idea why she’d feel that way. What the hell is going on?

“As you know, dear, it’s tradition in our family, in the House of the White Rose in general, to arrange marriages so that we can ensure a pure magical bloodline,” his mother says, as the three of them sit down again, leaving him standing there staring at them all, completely dumbfounded.

He knows where this is going, and he can feel his heart rising into his throat, cutting off any reply. He can only stare, face blank, as his mother continues, gesturing toward Hana.

“Because the Misakis are already such good friends of ours, we decided to bring the two families together, officially.”

Kunimi really thought things couldn’t get worse, yet here they are. A living nightmare. He can barely hear Misaki-san speaking over the loud rushing in his ears.

“I know Hana-chan is a little older than you, but she’s a good girl, a hardworking girl, and I don’t think you can do much better!”

“We’ve decided the wedding will take place after your Hinokoku trial,” Kunimi’s mother continues.

“A May wedding! It will be the perfect weather,” Misaki-san exclaims, clasping her hands together excitedly.

Kunimi feels sick. He curls his fingers into fists, wanting to run from the room, from this conversation. He stares at Hana, who continues looking at her hands, making no sound. Does she want this? It doesn’t look like she does. Maybe he can talk to her, ask her to convince her parents, and his, that this is a terrible idea. He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to give her any sort of fulfilling relationship, even if they do grow closer later on. He’s never thought about girls in that way, has never thought of _anyone_ in that way, save for one person.

Kunimi’s chest seizes painfully.

He needs to see Kindaichi.

Bowing, he starts to back up slowly. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me, I—”

“Akira-kun! Why don’t you take Hana-chan out on a date? That way the two of you can get reacquainted, while your mother and I work out the rest of the details?”

Kunimi feels trapped like a deer in headlight. “I, um.”

“Of course, he’d love to,” his mother says for him, standing and stepping over to where her purse hangs over the back of a chair. She pulls out a wad of bills, handing it to him. “Take her somewhere nice, Akira.” She gives him a look full of ice and steel, and he can only nod silently, taking the money and shoving it into his pocket.

The next thing he knows, he and Hana are walking down the sidewalk toward the train station. She still hasn’t said anything, and Kunimi has no idea how to break the silence. His brain is full of expletives, and he’s having a hard time thinking of something constructive to say.

“Um, sorry about this,” Hana says softly after a moment. “I know it’s . . . probably not what you want. I’ve always found the whole . . . arranged marriage thing rather patriarchal and archaic but . . . my parents are loyal members of the coven and think being married into a prestigious family such as yours will be good for us.”

Kunimi doesn’t respond. He keeps his gaze forward, not knowing what to say to her. The whole thing is stupid and old-fashioned. They’re not only ruining his life, but hers as well. But of course they don’t care about that. Their only concern is how other people see them; how “pure” the bloodline is.

Will he even be _able_ to give them pure-blooded children, though? He shudders to think about it.

“You’ve always been really quiet,” Hana continues when he remains silent. “So . . . I don’t really know what you’re thinking.” She sighs, looking forward. “You probably hate me.”

“I don’t really know you,” Kunimi says finally, thinking “hate” is a pretty strong word.

Hana nods. “Right, yeah, I know. I guess . . . I mean, maybe it won’t be so bad once we get to know each other better . . .”

Kunimi stops abruptly, turning towards her. She slows as well, glancing up at him. “Kunimi-kun?”

“This isn’t going to work,” he tells her, thinking she should know the truth, even if his parents like to pretend otherwise. “I’m not . . .” He frowns slightly. He’s never said this out loud before. “I’m not interested . . . in girls . . . in that way.”

Hana’s eyes widen, her lips forming a soft “O.”

“So you should really talk to your parents about choosing another guy to set you up with. Or, you know, tell them they should mind their own business and let you marry whatever guy you want,” Kunimi mutters, turning away to start walking again.

“They don’t approve of the guy I want,” Hana admits, as she matches his pace. She laughs softly, then, startling him. “I guess we have more in common than I thought, Kunimi-kun!”

He feels his face flush and has no idea what to say to that. Hana clasps her hands behind her back, looking up toward the overcast sky.

“We don’t have to go out somewhere if you don’t want to,” she offers.

Kunimi shrugs. “We already have the money. Might as well spend it. I don’t mind.”

Hana smiles. He has no idea if she’ll say anything to her parents, or if they’ll listen to her if she does, but he feels somewhat better knowing certain expectations have been put away.

He still doesn’t know what he’s going to tell Kindaichi, though.

They end up going downtown to a higher-end restaurant, spending all of the money his mom gave them, which he feels zero guilt over. Serves her right for pushing this on them in the first place. They don’t talk much during the meal, which is fine with Kunimi. As they leave, he catches her glancing toward the block where the coven headquarters are stationed.

“Is the guy you like from a different coven?” he finds himself asking, wondering what was so bad about him that her parents didn’t approve.

“Oh, um, no, actually,” Hana admits, glancing down at her hands.

Kunimi frowns. “Shouldn’t they be fine with him, then?”

“Well . . . he doesn’t come from a very wealthy family, despite having pure magic . . . and he’s kind of, well, rough around the edges?”

Kunimi blinks. Shy Hana likes a delinquent? Interesting.

“But, he doesn’t even know I like him!” Hana admits, flustered. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks pink. “I doubt he even thinks much of me. I-I see him at work and we talk sometimes, but he’s always flirting with other people so . . .”

“Sounds like a jerk,” Kunimi offers, thinking she could probably do better.

“Like I said, he’s . . . rough,” Hana says, tilting her head. “But I think he’s a good person, deep down. He just needs to shape up, some.”

“And you think you can shape him up?” Kunimi asks, feeling a smirk tugging at his lips.

Hana flushes. “Well, I mean, I’d like to _try_. But again, I doubt he’d listen to me.”

Kunimi shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m not in a rush to go home if you want to stop by headquarters and see him.”

Hana starts. “Ah, really? I mean, well . . .”

Kunimi rolls his eyes, grabbing her hand to pull her forward down the sidewalk back the way they’d come. He’s tired of watching people dance around their feelings. First Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and now Hana and her guy. He ignores the tiny voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Hanamaki telling him he should include himself and Kindaichi in that exasperation.

He knows his parents probably won’t back down from this arranged marriage, thing, so if he can give Hana this, maybe it’ll be okay. They’d have to keep it a secret, which isn’t ideal, but at least Kunimi won’t feel like he’s the cause of her unhappiness.

Hana’s steps soon catch up with his, and though her face is still red, there’s a new determination in her eyes. He realizes he’s still holding her hand and lets her go as they approach the front of the building.

“I’ll wait out here,” he offers, not wanting to be a third wheel. Plus, the sun is starting to peek through the clouds, and there’s a bench in the courtyard that looks perfect for napping.

Hana goes on inside, and Kunimi makes his way over, stretching out across the bench and hoping nobody calls the police on him thinking he’s some homeless guy. Tucking his arm under his head, he closes his eyes, dozing lightly in what sunlight is left as afternoon reaches its peak.

“Kunimi-kun?”

A familiar voice jolts him awake. _What’s he doing here?_

Opening one eye, he squints up at the silhouette of tall hair and broad shoulders looming above him, blocking out the light. He can’t read Kindaichi’s expression, but the concern was evident in his tone. Sighing, he closes his eyes again.

“Sleeping.”

“You really shouldn’t, though. At least . . . what are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“I was checking in on Iwaizumi-san. The plan hit a couple, um, obstacles. But we’re working through them.”

“Mm.”

There’s silence before he hears Kindaichi sigh. “I know what you did, and I know you were just doing your best to protect me, but it made me really mad. It felt like you didn’t trust me. I know I’m not a good liar, but . . . you didn’t even let me _try_.”

“So you’re mad at me for saving your life?” Kunimi frowns, keeping his eyes closed this time.

“You don’t know that I would’ve been caught!”

“It wasn’t worth the risk.”

“It still wasn’t your decision to make!”

“What else was I supposed to _do_?!” Ah, shit. Kunimi feels his mask cracking. He sits up quickly, turning his face away from Kindaichi, who’s now crouched in front of the bench. As the other straightens slowly, Kunimi does his best to regulate his breathing, to calm his rapid heartrate, schooling his expression into one of passive nonchalance.

Kindaichi sits down on the bench beside him with a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “I just . . . growing up you were always the one to look out for me. I was scared of things, stupid things, but you never teased me for it. Sometimes you laughed but . . . you always held my hand or took care of things without complaining or getting annoyed with me. After . . . after Hinokoku, you were there. Every day, you came to see me until I got better. I-I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Kunimi keeps his gaze on the white rose fountain in the center of the courtyard, curling his fingers into fists on his thighs. He remembers those days, all of them. He remembers standing up to bullies who made fun of Kindaichi, moving various scary-looking bugs back outside, holding his hand during particularly bad thunderstorms.

He remembers sitting beside Kindaichi during his debriefing, how Kindaichi refused to speak until Kunimi was in the room with him, holding his hand beneath the table. He remembers the way his fingers trembled as he went over each horrifying detail of his time in that Hell dimension, how tightly he gripped Kunimi’s hand. It hurt, but Kunimi didn’t say a word. He wanted to be there, wanted to hold Kindaichi’s hand, wanted to be of some comfort, however he could.

“I don’t want you to have to go through that, Kunimi-kun.” Kindaichi’s turned toward him, now, and even though Kunimi keeps his face forward, he can imagine the earnest look in his eyes. “You don’t deserve to go through that. It’s not that I don’t think you’re strong enough or-or smart enough, I just . . . that place never leaves you. I wanted to protect you from it, like you protected me from so many other things. I was mad that you wouldn’t let me do that, and I’m sorry for avoiding you these past couple weeks, I just . . . I didn’t know how to make you understand how much I _need_ to do this.”

“Idiot,” Kunimi mutters, looking down at his hands and fighting the blush that’s warming his face. “You don’t need to do anything for me.”

“Yes, I _do_,” Kindaichi insists, and he reaches over to lay his hand over Kunimi’s.

“I didn’t do any of those things so you’d repay me later,” Kunimi says, shaking his head.

“I know,” Kindaichi says softly. “I’m not doing this as a repayment.”

Kunimi closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. He’s so damn _tired_. He’s tired of studying, of training, of worrying about what the future holds. He’s tired of his parents dictating every moment of his life. He’s tired of the expectations, the rules, the feeling of helplessness. The feeling of just drifting through life, letting everyone else make decisions for him.

What about what _he_ wants? Can’t he be selfish for once? Can’t he have just one little thing that will make him happy?

“Are you—”

Kindaichi breaks off, as Kunimi turns his head and leans forward, pressing his lips against Kindaichi’s. He makes a startled noise like he’s choking, and Kunimi pulls back, not wanting him to _actually_ choke. Kindaichi coughs, his face bright red. He stares back at Kunimi, eyes wide.

“Do you get it now?” Kunimi asks, bordering on exasperated.

Kindaichi blinks. “I think so?” he squeaks, shaking his head, then, as he rubs the back of his neck. “But . . . if you feel that way . . . you should get it too.”

Now it’s Kunimi’s turn to blink. Impossibly, Kindaichi’s face grows redder.

“I feel the same!” he exclaims, like it should’ve been obvious.

“Oh,” Kunimi exhales, feeling somewhat like an idiot. He probably _did_ know that, but he suppressed it deep down somewhere safe to keep from having to deal with it and cause more trouble for himself or others. It’s too late now, though. He can’t take it back. He doesn’t _want_ to take it back, even though he knows there will be consequences.

“Kunimi-kun . . .” Kindaichi’s reaching for his other hand, now, holding both as his dark eyes study his face. “You get it now, right? Why I have to do this?”

“Yeah,” Kunimi admits, because he does, even though he still hates it.

“I love you,” Kindaichi says, like it’s so simple, so easy.

Kunimi’s whole body feels much too warm, suddenly. “Don’t say that so casually,” he hisses, trying to hide his expression by looking away off to the side.

Kindaichi laughs. “I do, though.” He reaches forward to gently brush Kunimi’s hair back behind his ear, his touch a whisper against his skin. “I thought about you, you know. In Hinokoku. I fought so hard to get back because I wanted to see you again. To tell you . . . but then I got nervous and started overthinking it.”

“I . . . probably could’ve spared you some trouble,” Kunimi mumbles apologetically.

Kindaichi leans forward, knocking his forehead lightly against the side of Kunimi’s. “I’m going to save you,” he says softly. His lips quirk in a small grin. “So don’t try to stop me again, okay?”

Kunimi snorts softly but doesn’t argue. He knows he needs to tell him about Hana, about the bomb his mom dropped on him earlier. It’ll effect things, he knows that. But in this moment, he can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t want to ruin it, doesn’t want this feeling of warmth in his chest to turn cold just yet. He squeezes Kindaichi’s hands tightly, pushing away every other thought.

Turning his head slightly, he kisses him again, lingering this time. Kindaichi kisses him back enthusiastically, bumping his nose and his teeth before readjusting and trying again, this time more carefully. It’s not amazing, but it’s better, and Kindaichi murmurs softly, licking hopefully along Kunimi’s lower lip, sending a shiver down his spine. As he shifts closer, parting his lips and laying his hand against the side of Kindaichi’s face to draw him in further, Kunimi can feel his heart swell with a foreign sensation he recognizes after a moment as happiness.

He knows it won’t last, this happiness, but he clings to it, dreading the time he’ll have to let it go.

* * *

Yes, Hanamaki is avoiding Matsukawa, and yes, he knows it’s not going to solve anything, only delay the inevitable. Still, he continues, not sure what else to do. He doesn’t know what Matsukawa will do if he finds out the truth. At first, he didn’t want him to know because it’s extremely unsexy, and he didn’t want anything to get in the way of tapping that ass.

Now that he suspects, well, _knows_ that Matsukawa actually cares about him, as a person (or as a demon), that changes everything. It’s not like he’ll be able to _stop_ the experiments or set Hanamaki free. Really, there’s nothing he can do, except worry, and Hanamaki isn’t about to put that burden on him, just like he refuses to put it on Akira.

Matsukawa is much more assertive than Akira, though, hence the avoidance.

It makes his days decidedly less fun, though. Akira won’t let him into his mind anymore, and the kid barely speaks to him during their training lessons. Hanamaki knows he probably feels guilty for not helping with his friend’s little investigation, and even though Hanamaki truly doesn’t blame him for it, he won’t give him the opportunity to _say_ as much. So, they’re at an impasse.

Hanamaki’s growing increasingly bored.

There’s nothing to look forward to, anymore, which makes the pain each night almost unbearable. He finds himself simply curling into a ball, alone in his cage, alone in his thoughts, dreaming of home.

It’s incredibly lonely, but he isn’t sure what to do about it.

He lets his guard down. Not on purpose, except . . . maybe it is. He doesn’t try to stop it, at least, when Matsukawa rounds the corner one day to find him sitting on the cushioned windowsill in the study, staring out at the rain as it drizzles gently into the backyard. He’s wearing just a black turtleneck with a pair of black leggings, not having dressed up in his usual bright attire to catch Matsukawa’s attention. Still, he doesn’t try to run away, as Matsukawa approaches him slowly.

“Are you tired of playing cat and mouse, yet?” he drawls.

Hanamaki can’t help but chuckle softly, resting his forehead against the windowpane. “Are you saying you’ve been trying to chase me down? And you still deny your attraction to me, hm?” It’s halfhearted at best, but it does make him feel somewhat better.

“You’re the one who ran away this time,” Matsukawa says pointedly.

Hanamaki smirks. “So you admit you’ve been running away.”

Matsukawa sighs. He glances around the space for a moment before stepping over to the windowsill, gently pushing Hanamaki’s legs aside so he can sit. “Ever since we met you’ve been a pain in my side, but . . . I’ll admit, you intrigued me. I never knew a demon could be so . . .”

“Human?” Hanamaki lifts his head off the window, looking over at Matsukawa’s profile.

He nods solemnly, turning to look at him. “We’re taught in school that demons are monsters: irredeemable, horrific, evil. When I realized the Kunimis were in a contract with one, I kept waiting for the other foot to fall, for you to pull some kind of trick or trap. But you never did. You still haven’t. And I see how you are with Akira . . . I still don’t completely understand how it’s possible, but you love that kid.”

Hanamaki blinks, wondering where exactly this is going.

“Once I realized that, I saw you in a completely different light. There’s nothing horrific or evil about you. I’ll admit, things got confusing. But whatever my feelings might be, I _have_ grown to care about you. So if there’s something wrong here, if there’s something I’m missing that I should’ve seen before . . . I want you to tell me.”

Hanamaki stares. He’s seen Matsukawa be serious, before, but not like this. Never like this. He’s radiating genuine sincerity, and it’s sexy in a whole different way. Hanamaki feels off-balance, flustered. He’s never been the one flustered, before.

“There’s not much you can do about it, chief,” he says, grinning faintly, trying to keep things light.

“Still. I’d like to know.” Matsukawa’s voice is soft and earnest, and Hanamaki’s chest squeezes around his heart.

“Right,” he says, hopping to his feet. “I’ll show you to my room, then!”

Matsukawa stands more slowly, looking somewhat wary but following Hanamaki to the basement door beneath the stairs anyway. Hanamaki can hear his heart hammering in his ears, as he makes his way down the steps. The Kunimis are home, right upstairs: Eiji in his office, his wife in her room. He’s not sure where Akira is, but he can’t be too far away if Matsukawa’s here.

This will have to be quick.

“They put you in the basement?” Matsukawa asks from behind him, sounding skeptical.

“Oh, just wait. It gets better.”

Hanamaki jumps the last couple steps, hitting the light switch on the wall beside the stairwell. The florescent lights flicker on, illuminating the sterile space. He can hear Matsukawa’s soft intake of breath at the sight of the cage in the corner with the single dog bed inside, the backless wheeling stool in front of the counter against the opposite wall, with a microscope on top of it beside a box of syringes, a line of empty vials behind it. Then beside the counter is the fridge, humming ominously. Drawn on the floor in the center of the room is the pentagram which Rui used to first summon him.

Hanamaki walks over to the cage, slapping the top of it as he musters up a grin for Matsukawa. “This bad boy can fit _so_ much fucking angst in it.”

Matsukawa steps forward, gaze fixed on the counter and the objects on it. “Is he . . . what is he _doing_ to you?”

Hanamaki shrugs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest to hide his trembling hands, as he leans back against the cage. “Just some experimentation. I think he’s either trying to find a cure for different poisons using my blood as the antidote or he just really enjoys sticking needles into demons.”

Matsukawa turns his gaze onto him, and he looks stricken. “He’s _poisoning_ you?”

“I heal. It’s fine,” Hanamaki assures him, his voice pitching much higher than he means it to.

Matsukawa moves closer, his caterpillar brows drawn low over his nose. “Makki . . . why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Hanamaki says, shaking his head. “Nobody can do anything about it. I’m under contract.”

“There has to be _something_.” Matsukawa’s incredibly close now, inches away. He lifts his hands, grasping Hanamaki’s arms in them, holding him firmly.

Hanamaki’s heart is pounding much too fast. He feels lightheaded. “The kid . . . Kindaichi. Apparently, he’s got a plan to expose the House of the White Rose and their demon contracts by gathering evidence to take to the other coven councils. But Akira won’t go against his father. I already offered to pose for pictures.”

“Does he know about this?”

Hanamaki shakes his head. “I didn’t want to burden him with it either.”

Matsukawa sighs, before his frown turns thoughtful, and he looks off past Hanamaki’s shoulder. “I wonder if that’s what Iwaizumi was doing back at headquarters . . . It’s no secret that he stole the portal pendant and now he’s suddenly returned all repentant . . .”

“I don’t know who that is,” Hanamaki offers unhelpfully.

“Sorry, I’m just . . . thinking.” He lowers his gaze, looking into Hanamaki’s face once more. “I’m going to do whatever I can to help.”

Hanamaki blinks. “Uh, you sure? I mean, I’m pretty sure you could get in fairly big trouble if you’re caught. Can’t they do shit like take people’s magic away?”

Matsukawa purses his lips. “I won’t let you continue to suffer like this.”

“My hero,” Hanamaki says softly with a weak smile. Everything’s happening so quickly. He really didn’t expect any of this. For Matsukawa to throw away his entire coven just to help him . . . a _demon_. It’s too much.

“You know I’m still a demon, right? I mean, that hasn’t changed no matter how adorable and human-like I am.”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of this?” Matsukawa asks, raising his eyebrows. He’s still holding Hanamaki’s arms.

“I just want to make sure you really know what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Matsukawa lifts one hand, laying it on top of Hanamaki’s head, between his horns. He moves it down then, flicking Hanamaki on the forehead. “Now, will you stop avoiding me? Akira-kun’s bored out of his mind during our study sessions.”

“Oh, well, we can’t let the kid stay bored, now can we?”

Matsukawa smirks faintly, and it’s a beautiful sight.

Seeing as that didn’t go as horribly as Hanamaki feared, he decides to try and break through to Akira, as well. He never really thought about it until Matsukawa mentioned it, but he _does_ love the kid. He doesn’t want their relationship to remain strained. Akira has nothing to feel guilty about, seeing as he doesn’t know what his father’s really doing to Hanamaki. He’s still not going to share that, but he needs Akira to know he’s not angry with him.

So that night, instead of going to Matsukawa before bed, he slips into Akira’s mind while he’s distracted thinking about Kindaichi and a certain kiss . . . whoa, wait. Back that up.

“Akira-kun! Really? You lost your lip-virginity and you didn’t _tell_ me?!”

The scene dissipates rapidly, and Akira appears in front of him, red-faced and annoyed. “Get out of my head!”

“No, no, I want to hear the whole story! How did it happen? Did you confess your undying love? Did Turnip-kun cry?” Hanamaki gasps, hands over his cheeks. “Did _you_ cry?!”

“No!” Akira’s face burns as bright as a tomato. He’s so flustered, it’s adorable, and Hanamaki’s glad to see him expressing himself.

“Aww, young love, so cute,” he says, reaching forward to pat the top of Akira’s head.

Akira swats his hand away. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought my wall was working.”

“Oh, it has been,” Hanamaki assures him. “Nice job, by the way. You figured out how to block me all on your own. I’d be proud if it wasn’t so annoying.”

“So how are you here _now_?”

Hanamaki waves to the now empty white space around them. “You were a little distracted, obviously,” he teases.

Akira huffs, looking away. Hanamaki watches him fondly.

“I just came to let you know that I don’t blame you, and you don’t need to feel guilty for not turning your father in,” he says, allowing himself to be serious for a moment. “I get it. Family comes first, and loyalty is big in the White Rose coven.”

Akira’s turned his gaze to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing striped blue and white pajamas, and his feet are bare. He curls his toes slowly.

“Hey,” Hanamaki says gently, tilting his head down to try and catch his gaze. “It’s okay. So, stop moping around and avoiding me. Our training sessions will be much more fun.”

Akira sighs, his arms lowering to his sides. “Okay,” he says softly, his expression carefully blank.

Hanamaki reaches forward to tweak his nose gently, causing him to wrinkle it. “Don’t you know you don’t have to wear that mask in here? You’re safe in your head, even with me, I promise.”

Akira reaches up to rub his forehead wearily, suddenly looking much older than his seventeen years. “Mom’s arranging a wedding for me. I’m supposed to get married to this girl I barely know after I get back from Hinokoku.”

Hanamaki whistles slowly. “Wow,” he says, not having expected that. “How did Turnip-kun take that?”

Akira frowns. “I haven’t told him yet.”

“Well! I’m sure that’s not going to blow up in your face at all,” Hanamaki offers.

Akira gives him a look. “I know I have to tell him, I’m just . . . kind of hoping it’ll go away on its own somehow . . .”

Hanamaki tsks. “You can’t always be lazy about things, Akira-kun~ If you really want something, you should go after it, even if it takes effort. You managed to tell Kindaichi how you feel about him, right?”

“Oh. No, I didn’t really _say_ it . . .”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes toward the empty white space above him. “What am I going to do with you?” He steps forward, placing his hands on Akira’s shoulders to look him square in the eye. “I know it’s easier to just go along with the flow and let others tell you what to do, but you’re never going to find true happiness that way. Sometimes it takes a little risk, a little effort, but I promise you it’s worth it in the end.”

Akira blinks back at him. “But what if I go after what I want, and it makes everything worse?” he asks softly, and there’s a crack in his mask, a sliver of vulnerability shining through.

Hanamaki smiles, bringing his hand up to bop Akira’s head lightly with the side of it. “That’s what I’m here for, kid. I’ll fix anything you break. Promise.”

_I’m not going anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ p much everyone in this chapter: dat's gaaaaaaay
> 
> bonus points to those who guess correctly who the "weapon" is (p sure that's an easy one but)
> 
> eff the house of the white rose for real tho
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	4. Where There's Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. this chapter became a monster of a 21k thing. blame that on emchan, who insisted having two smut scenes in a single chapter wasn't too much.
> 
> that being said, if smut isn't your jam, stop at "Kiss and make up?" and CTRL/Command + F "It’s too warm" for the first one, and stop at "This time, it's hungry" and resume at "He peers through" for the second one.

Iwaizumi really hopes that when he dies he’ll be reincarnated as a rich man. He’s pretty sure he deserves that and more for putting up with Terushima Yuuji for two whole weeks straight. The guy is insufferable. Because he’s been tasked with keeping an eye on Iwaizumi, he’s forced to follow him around as he cleans each room in the building every evening. Seeing as _Terushima_ isn’t a janitor, Iwaizumi’s forced to listen to each asinine thing the guy says. It’s usually just him boasting about his accomplishments out in the field, but considering he’s stuck doing this type of work now, Iwaizumi’s pretty sure he’s lying about most, if not all, of them.

He doesn’t follow Iwaizumi down to bring meals to the kid in the dungeon, though, and Iwaizumi takes the time to learn more about him, little by little. He discovers that he really is a kid, only newly eighteen, and has been in this dungeon for the past year. He was in a house before, but he can’t tell Iwaizumi any details about it, saying he was kept locked up in the basement for the entirety of his time there. He doesn’t give Iwaizumi his name, either, but Iwaizumi figures that’s just as well. The last thing either of them needs is for Iwaizumi to screw up somehow and reference the kid by name to anyone. He still has no idea why the kid is locked up; whenever he asks, the kid just insists that he’s “dangerous.”

Iwaizumi’s also managed to sneak a few photos on his phone of various paperwork left on computer screens or on desks when Terushima’s not looking. It’s difficult to do so in such a way where the cameras won’t catch him either, though, so he’s glad when Kindaichi starts to help him. The young witch tells Terushima that he’s always admired Iwaizumi and would like to learn more from him, grilling Iwaizumi with questions about his Hunting days, as they go room to room. While Terushima stands off to the side, scrolling through his phone, Iwaizumi blocks Kindaichi from the cameras, as the younger boy takes the necessary photos.

It’s risky, and Iwaizumi’s not entirely comfortable with it, but makes himself feel better by making Kindaichi promise that if they’re caught to let Iwaizumi take the blame for everything. It does make gathering intel easier, too, even if most of what they find is boring, irrelevant stuff. Iwaizumi’s starting to suspect they’ll have to dig deeper, and he wonders how exactly they’ll go about getting rid of Terushima long enough to do so.

Help comes in the form of information Kindaichi gleans from Kunimi. Apparently, the receptionist Misaki Hana has a crush on Terushima. As soon as he hears this, the guy starts taking “smoke breaks” to chat her up at her desk, giving Kindaichi and Iwaizumi a few precious minutes alone in whatever office they happen to be in at the time.

This only lasts for a few days, however, as one afternoon the two exit an office to see a red-faced and furious Terushima standing in front of them. He grabs the front of Kindaichi’s sweater, turning to shove him against a wall.

“You trying to make a fool outta me?” he asks, seething.

Kindaichi’s eyes grow twice their size. “W-what?”

“Whoa, hey,” Iwaizumi steps forward quickly, laying his hand on Terushima’s shoulder.

He shrugs him off. “Were you in on it?” he asks, turning to glare at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi puts his hands up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hana! She’s _engaged_!”

Kindaichi and Iwaizumi both blink. _He actually cares about that?_

“I didn’t know!” Kindaichi insists, grabbing Terushima’s wrists to try and pull his hands off him.

“How could you not know? She’s engaged to _your_ little friend! The one that’s always following you around when he’s not getting super fancy expensive tutoring shit.” Terushima lets him go, but he doesn’t back away, glancing between Kindaichi and Iwaizumi accusingly.

“K-Kunimi-kun?” Kindaichi looks stricken. “He’s . . . engaged to Misaki-san?”

Terushima narrows his eyes, finally taking a step back. “Guess you really didn’t know,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna go take an actual smoke . . .” He hesitates before turning to go, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Iwaizumi watches him go, bemused. “I didn’t think he cared about anyone but himself,” he admits, mostly talking to himself. He turns back to Kindaichi and notices the kid still looks like someone just smacked him across the face. “You okay?”

“I . . .” Kindaichi looks over at him, his face pale. He swallows hard, slumping against the wall. “He didn’t tell me . . .”

Iwaizumi frowns. Glancing down the hallway, he realizes this is the perfect opportunity to do some more in-depth sleuthing. Terushima’s probably going to be gone for a while, nursing his hurt feelings, but as he looks back at Kindaichi, he can’t bring himself to simply grab the kid and go.

“Hey,” he says gently, stepping forward to lay his hand on Kindaichi’s shoulder. “I know this probably isn’t a great time for you, but we have to get moving. Ito-san’s already left for the day, and now is the best time to check his office while Terushima’s distracted. If you still want to stop the trials before Kunimi’s birthday, we have to go now. We only have a week and a half left.”

Kindaichi exhales slowly, moving to straighten after a moment. He runs a hand through his hair, messing the shallot-shape slightly. “What do you need me to do?” he asks softly.

Iwaizumi takes Kindaichi’s arm, leading him around the corner into the hallway camera’s blind spot. After making sure they’re alone, he slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a USB drive, pressing it into Kindaichi’s hand. “I need you to copy as many files as you can from Ito-san’s computer onto this. Make yourself invisible and I’ll make sure I’m blocking the camera as much as possible, too. Then, I need you to take it to Oikawa. He’ll go through it and see if there’s anything useful on it.”

Kindaichi nods. “Right. Got it.”

Iwaizumi pats his arm encouragingly before leading the way toward the elevators. He feels somewhat insensitive, but as he looks over at the light of determination in Kindaichi’s eyes, he feels like maybe the distraction will be a good thing for him. Still, he thinks he should say _something_, so after a moment he turns toward the kid.

“Kunimi-kun’s smart. If he doesn’t want this marriage, I’m sure he’ll figure out a way to get out of it.”

Kindaichi smiles weakly. “Maybe. He’s also pretty lazy and lets things happen that he doesn’t like just because it’s easier to avoid it . . .”

“He wasn’t avoiding anything when it came to roping me into all this to save you,” Iwaizumi says pointedly. “If you tell him you don’t want him to marry Misaki-san, I’m sure he’ll do something about it.”

Kindaichi brightens. “You think so?”

Iwaizumi nods, facing forward again. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he can’t help but compare Kindaichi and Kunimi to himself and Oikawa. Kindaichi’s willing to risk his own wellbeing to keep Kunimi safe, while Kunimi’s willing to risk others’. If it comes down to it, though, he’s sure Kunimi will step up and place himself in the line of fire for Kindaichi’s sake. He doesn’t know Kunimi as well as he does Kindaichi, but that’s the feeling he gets.

As soon as the elevator reaches the top floor, Kindaichi casts the invisibility spell. As Iwaizumi suspected, Ito’s office is dark and empty. He doesn’t have Terushima’s keys to unlock the door, but another soft spell from Kindaichi allows them inside anyway. He wheels his cart in and turns on the light to make things less suspicious, before he goes about dusting and vacuuming the small area. He takes his time, even going over to the plaques and paintings on the walls to dust them, as well. He can only stall for so long, however, and once everything is done, he gathers up the trash in the can by the computer.

“Let’s go,” he hisses softly.

The chair squeaks and moves just slightly. Iwaizumi sets his hand on it, adjusting it as he stands with the trash in his other hand. He makes his way toward the door, pausing to turn out the light, before shutting it. Kindaichi locks it with another muttered spell, and Iwaizumi makes his way back to the elevator, heart pounding in his throat.

“It worked! We did it!” Kindaichi exclaims, turning visible once they reach the elevator and the doors close behind them.

“Yeah . . .” Iwaizumi can’t help but feel uneasy.

When the elevator stops at the lobby and the two step out, Terushima’s waiting for them with a scowl.

“Where’ve you two been?” he asks, stepping forward quickly to grab the chain dangling from the collar around Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Just cleaning.” Iwaizumi holds up the bag of trash still in his hand, before setting it in the larger bag on his cleaning cart.

Terushima turns to Kindaichi. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Kindaichi eyes go wide once more. “I was just . . . Iwaizumi-san and I . . .” He glances toward Iwaizumi for help.

“Go on home, Kindaichi. I’ve got it from here.”

“Yes! Goodnight!” Kindaichi exclaims, bowing quickly before fleeing.

Terushima watches him go with a shake of his head. “What a weird kid.”

Iwaizumi pushes the cart forward, making his way toward the janitor’s closet to put things away. Terushima follows after feeling the chain grow taut. He doesn’t say anything, as Iwaizumi sets the cart inside the closet and grabs the large trash bag to tie it up. He remains uncharacteristically silent, as he follows Iwaizumi out to the garbage bins in the alleyway beside the building.

“Sorry about Misaki-san,” Iwaizumi says finally, turning toward him.

Terushima starts, looking surprised by the sentiment. “Uh, thanks.”

Iwaizumi pulls the chain out of Terushima’s slackened grip. “I’m heading home now. See you tomorrow.”

“Right . . .”

Iwaizumi leaves him standing there, wondering when the guy will realize he’ll probably have a better chance if he stopped acting so obnoxious all the time. Not that Iwaizumi’s going to lecture him on that. He slips the chain down the front of his sweater, turning up the collar of his coat to hide the one around his neck as best he can, as he heads for the station to go home.

Moving back in with his parents was . . . interesting. His mother seemed happy to have him back, but he can feel the cold shoulder from his father every night at dinner, radiating off him in icy waves. It’s probably just as well that Iwaizumi doesn’t mend his relationship with them. Once they realize why he came back in the first place, they’re not likely to forgive him.

He collapses on his bed once he reaches it with a sigh. Sleeping with the collar and chain has proved to be uncomfortable, but after two and a half weeks he’s grown somewhat used to it. He adjusts it around his neck absently. Hopefully Kindaichi was able to retrieve good information off of Ito’s computer. He’s looking forward to putting all this behind him again, this time for good.

Lying his arm across his face, Iwaizumi sighs and attempts to relax enough to fall asleep. A soft rapping on his window draws his attention, however, and he sits up just enough to look over and watch as his window opens and a tall figure folds its way inside.

“What the hell are you doing, Shittykawa?” he hisses into the dark, his heart pounding rapidly. He glances toward the door, thinking of his parents just on the other side of it.

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan, I’ve put up the silent ward,” Oikawa says with a grin, shutting the window before moving over to the bed, shedding his coat. Underneath it, he’s wearing his stupid alien head pajamas.

Iwaizumi’s chest aches to see him. The past two and a half weeks suddenly feel like a lifetime, and he shifts only slightly on the bed, forcing Oikawa to lay close against him, as he gets beneath the covers.

“This feels like old times,” Oikawa says with a grin.

“What are you doing here?” Iwaizumi asks, even as he strains his eyes to see Oikawa’s face in the dark, his fingers reaching to curl into the front of his pajama shirt.

“Can’t I just come to see my boyfriend? You act like you haven’t missed me at all!” The pout is evident in his voice.

Iwaizumi knocks his forehead gently against Oikawa’s. “Of course, I miss you, dumbass,” he murmurs. “It’s just . . . it’s not really safe for you to be here. Everyone thinks we broke up. If my parents catch you . . .”

“They won’t,” Oikawa says confidently. “They didn’t for two whole years of me sneaking in here almost every night back when we were teenagers, remember?”

Iwaizumi sighs, doing his best to force the anxious thoughts from his brain. “Yeah, I remember,” he mutters softly. He moves his hand up, carding his fingers through Oikawa’s hair to grip some of it at the back of his head. Holding him still, he leans forward to kiss him deeply, the ache in his chest growing. Oikawa kisses him back readily, his hand reaching for the side of Iwaizumi’s face. It travels down to his neck, pausing when it reaches the collar.

“Oh? What’s this?” Oikawa asks lightly, a gleam entering his eyes. “Is Iwa-chan feeling kinky?”

Iwaizumi grimaces, pulling back. “_No_,” he growls. “That fucker at the White Rose put this on me. It’s suppressing my magic.”

Oikawa purses his lips. “Well, that’s not very nice. Still, we could have some fun with this,” he trills softly, fingers trailing across the metal before they come to the chain. He pulls it out from beneath Iwaizumi’s sleep shirt, wrapping it around his hand slowly.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi doesn’t get the full warning out before Oikawa tugs on the chain, activating the choke hold. Oikawa’s eyes grow wide, as Iwaizumi gasps for breath, fingers digging into the edge of the collar before it finally relaxes, leaving him coughing and gulping down air.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! Are you okay?” Oikawa asks a bit frantically, dropping the chain as though it burns him.

Iwaizumi nods, massaging his neck. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” he assures him hoarsely.

Oikawa’s eyes go from the collar to the chain then back to Iwaizumi’s face, his features hardening. “Are they hurting you, Iwa-chan?” he asks, ice lacing his tone.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “No. _No_.” He traces his fingers lightly over the tense lines of Oikawa’s face. “I’m fine, I promise. It’s just a precaution in case I turn against them again. As far as I know, they don’t suspect anything, though, so I’m good. I’m okay.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond for a moment, his eyes falling to the collar once more. He sighs, then, and turns over onto his back. “I looked over the drive Kindaichi-kun gave me,” he says.

“And?” Iwaizumi prompts, eyes on Oikawa’s profile.

Oikawa laughs weakly, dropping his hands over his face before groaning. “There’s everything from payroll to member lists to how much fucking marble to use in the next upgrade to their fountain, but absolutely nothing about demon contracts.” He lowers his hands. “Ito’s smarter than I gave him credit for. I don’t think you’re going to find anything on his main computer. He probably has a private laptop that he keeps with him at all times for something like that. You might have better luck looking in other council members’ offices, but I’d bet he has all of them keeping that shit on private laptops and tablets too.”

Iwaizumi exhales slowly. “So, all this was for nothing,” he says dully, thinking that figured.

Oikawa glances over at him. “What are you going to do?” he asks softly, looking very much like he wants to tell Iwaizumi what to do, but he’s holding himself back. Iwaizumi appreciates it, to a certain extent. Some part of him wishes Oikawa would just take over the whole operation. He’s ten times cleverer than Iwaizumi could ever hope to be.

But the thought of Oikawa going undercover at the House of the White Rose makes his chest clench painfully, and he banishes it from his mind.

“I guess . . . we’ll have to keep looking for something,” Iwaizumi says after a moment. “I know Ito’s office has a safe, and there are a few other council members that have them too. Maybe there’s something useful in there. I’ve also taken photos of the dungeon, not that that’s super incriminating. All the covens have their own ways of disciplining their members. I doubt they’d want to get involved in that.” He reaches up to rub the scar on his forehead absently.

Oikawa reaches over to take his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss his fingers gently. “Iwa-chan’s so brave,” he murmurs softly.

Iwaizumi feels his cheeks grow warm. “Shut up,” he mutters, not meeting Oikawa’s gaze.

Oikawa moves his lips to Iwaizumi’s palm and then his wrist. The heat travels further over Iwaizumi’s face, but he doesn’t pull away. His heart picks up speed, as he realizes just how long it’s been since he was able to be like this with Oikawa. Suddenly feeling a great urgency to make up for lost time, he pulls his hand out from Oikawa’s to grab the back of his head once more, pulling him forward into a heated kiss. Oikawa returns it immediately, moaning softly, as he reaches around Iwaizumi, turning toward him in order to pull him closer.

Iwaizumi moves willingly, wanting to get as close as possible. He deepens the kiss, running his tongue along the underside of Oikawa’s upper lip. Oikawa gasps softly, and Iwaizumi pushes his tongue inside his mouth, tasting him like a man starving in the desert. He pushes Oikawa back against the mattress, rolling over to lay half on top of him. The chain gets caught between them, the metal digging into his chest. With a growl, Iwaizumi leans back, taking it and tossing it over his shoulder to get it out of the way. It smacks against his back with a sting, but he pays it no mind, delving back into Oikawa’s mouth as soon as it’s gone.

Oikawa’s hands grip the back of his sleep shirt, tugging it up some as he tries to pull Iwaizumi even closer. Iwaizumi gets one leg over Oikawa’s, straddling his hips. He feels Oikawa’s lips curve into a slight smile under his, and more heat surges through him. He kisses across Oikawa’s cheek and jaw, one hand reaching for the bedside table, shifting around until he finds the drawer. Oikawa’s lips find a spot on his neck, biting and sucking gently, as a shiver runs down Iwaizumi’s spine.

“Shit,” he mutters, after feeling around the drawer for a second.

“Mm?”

“There’s no lube or condoms.” His mom must’ve gotten rid of them when she cleaned his room. His annoyance overpowers some of his embarrassment at that thought, though not all.

Oikawa laughs softly against his skin. “There are plenty of things we can do without those,” he assures him.

“I know, but still,” Iwaizumi grumbles, his face feeling hot.

“Mmm, do you really want to fuck me that badly, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, shifting his hands up underneath Iwaizumi’s shirt to trail his fingertips across his back.

Iwaizumi’s pretty sure his entire body is on fire now. “Like you don’t,” he says, rolling his eyes and cutting off Oikawa’s laugh to kiss him, hard. Oikawa probably _has_ been thinking about the exact same thing. In fact, the way Oikawa arches into the kiss pretty much confirms it.

He takes Oikawa’s hand, lacing their fingers together and pressing it down into the pillow by his head, as he licks into Oikawa’s mouth once more. His other hand reaches down, slipping between them, to apply the faintest pressure on the half-hard bulge he feels underneath Oikawa’s pajama bottoms. This elicits a low groan from Oikawa, who squeezes his hand as well. Iwaizumi bites back a smile, not wanting to break the kiss, as he begins to gently grope Oikawa through his clothes.

Oikawa’s hips lift into his touch, seeking more friction. Iwaizumi considers drawing it out, teasing him, but his own body is starting to respond after so much time alone, and he can’t bring himself to have that much patience. Sitting up, he strips off his sleep shirt, tossing it to the side, before reaching for Oikawa’s. His eyes are half-lidded, a flush spread across his cheeks. Iwaizumi can’t see his full expression in the dark, but he knows it’s probably as full of desire as his is. He sits up enough to help Iwaizumi rid him of his shirt, and their pajama pants soon follow.

Iwaizumi pauses, as he hears a faint hiss from Oikawa, the other gingerly straightening his right leg.

“What was that?” he asks flatly.

Oikawa blinks up at him. “What was what?”

“Don’t give me that shit. You know what I’m talking about.”

Oikawa shakes his head. “It’s nothing, Iwa-chan, I—”

“You were favoring that same leg almost three weeks ago. What the fuck did you do to it?”

“I just landed on it wrong during a fight and twisted it or something. I’ve been using healing herbs and stuff on it, it’s fine,” Oikawa insists, reaching for him. “Iwa-chan . . .”

Iwaizumi bats his hands away, moving to lift the leg carefully, inspecting it as best he can in the dark, pressing his fingers here and there around the knee. Oikawa tries to stifle a whimper when he reaches a certain spot, but Iwaizumi hears it. He glowers up at him.

“You probably tore something, you idiot. Why didn’t you go to the clinic? You can’t even say you’ve been too busy because I _know_ you go out there to check on Yahaba and Kyoutani. Have you seriously kept hunting on this?”

“I have _obligations_, Iwa-chan! With more and more imps and demons appearing ever since we stopped those two at the jewelry store, work has been busier than ever! I’m one of the top Hunters in Tokyo. I can’t let my clients down!”

Iwaizumi levels him with a glare. “You mean you can’t let Ushijima and his team from Shiratorizawa beat you,” he says flatly.

“It really should be illegal to have that many Hunters on one team,” Oikawa grumbles, not denying it.

“Listen, I get you want to keep up with the competition—”

“Excuse you, I plan on _surpassing_ the competition.”

“But you can’t seriously think hunting on a busted knee is going to _help_. I have a feeling this thing with the White Rose isn’t going to go down peacefully in the end, and I’m going to need you with me. You can’t do that if you can barely stand. Tomorrow, you’re going to go to the clinic and get an appointment with Watari-san. You’re going to _listen_ to what she tells you to do, and you’re _not_ going to hunt anything until it’s better, got it?”

Oikawa smiles faintly, tilting his head to the side. “Iwa-chan, so bossy. It’s kinda hot.”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth. “I’m _serious_, Shittykawa.”

The teasing look falls from Oikawa’s face. He bites his lip before nodding. “I know. I will go. I _promise_,” he adds when he catches sight of Iwaizumi’s skeptical look. He holds his hand out to him, then. “Kiss and make up?”

Iwaizumi sighs, but he takes Oikawa’s hand again, moving forward to kiss him. He tries to push the worry out of his mind and focus on where they were before he interrupted them. It’s easier to do so once Oikawa pushes his free hand into Iwaizumi’s boxers and takes hold of him. His breath hitches in his throat, as heat spreads from the touch and tingles of pleasure travel down his thighs once Oikawa begins to tug on him.

He moves to straddle Oikawa once more, yanking on the waistband of his boxers to get them down enough for Oikawa to pull out his half-hard member, though it quickly becomes fully erect, as Oikawa strokes his shaft and runs his thumb over his tip expertly. Iwaizumi stifles a groan against Oikawa’s mouth, hurrying to push down Oikawa’s own underwear and get his hand around the erection there. Oikawa shudders, his teeth tugging at Iwaizumi’s lower lip, and he can hear the way their breaths grow labored, each flushed and trembling with the pleasure the other’s hand is giving them.

Once Iwaizumi can feel the pre-cum dribbling from Oikawa’s tip, he nudges his hand away, taking both cocks in his own. He runs his palm over the pre-cum, using the liquid as lube to start pulling and stroking the two of them together. Oikawa gasps against his mouth, and they’re just breathing against each other now, stifling moans low in their throats. Oikawa’s arms wrap around him, and he buries his face in Iwaizumi’s neck, pressing small kisses against it. Iwaizumi lays his forehead against Oikawa’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels the pleasure building, crawling through him slowly and bringing with it more heat.

His free hand, pressed against the mattress beside Oikawa, curls into the sheets, gripping tightly, as he moves his hand faster. Oikawa’s hips roll upward, urging him on, and Iwaizumi pants heavily against his flushed skin, wishing he could feel Oikawa’s tight ass around him. The friction isn’t quite enough yet, though he can feel his climax building, the pleasure growing sharper, curling his toes.

“Hajime, _Hajime,_” Oikawa whimpers against his neck.

Iwaizumi grits his teeth, trembling at the way his given name sounds in Oikawa’s voice. He’s missed this. He’s missed him. So much.

“Fuck, _shit_,” he gasps, as his hips jerk slightly, and he spills into his hand, the white-hot sensation crashing over him.

Oikawa’s still arching into him, searching for his own release, and through his haze Iwaizumi gives them a few more pulls, drawing more out of him, as his thighs quiver from the overstimulation. He bites down on his lip, grimacing, and then feels a rush of relief as Oikawa cries out softly against his neck and stiffens. Iwaizumi catches as much as he can, finally slowing his movements. He remains there a moment, catching his breath, as Oikawa nuzzles his face against his damp skin.

“Mmm, I miss you,” he says softly.

“I miss you too,” Iwaizumi mutters, resting his head lightly against Oikawa’s.

He allows a couple more minutes to pass before gently pulling away. Oikawa’s arms tighten around him for a brief second before they release him. Iwaizumi rolls off him, grabbing some tissues from the bedside table to clean off his hand, glad his mom hadn’t gotten rid of _those_ at least.

He cleans off Oikawa’s stomach where some landed there, swiping at his own to make sure everything’s gone, before pulling up his boxers and flopping back onto the mattress beside him. It’s too warm, now, but he doesn’t move away, as Oikawa pulls up his underwear and turns to snuggle against his side, wrapping his arm around Iwaizumi’s waist. Iwaizumi rests his hand against it, trailing his fingers across the fair skin absently.

“You really think this is all going to come down to a fight, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks softly after a moment.

“I hope not,” Iwaizumi admits, staring up at the ceiling. He swallows hard. “But Ito’s a proud man and if the council members all have demons under contract . . . I doubt they’re going to give up that much power willingly. We might have to fight all of them _and_ their demons if we really want to stop them for good.”

“You and me against an entire coven? Sounds like fun,” Oikawa says with a light chuckle.

Iwaizumi turns his head to kiss the top of Oikawa’s. “Not just us, dumbass. Obviously, we’re going to need help. You can get Yahaba and Watari on board, probably, and you know Kuroo and Kenma will be down. Kyoutani will be too, and maybe I can see if there’s anyone else in the coven willing to help, aside from the kid. Matsukawa’s always been a stand-up guy; he might flip sides if he knows what the coven’s been doing under everyone’s noses.”

“Or he might turn you in,” Oikawa reminds him, tightening his grip around Iwaizumi’s waist.

Iwaizumi sighs. “It might be a risk we have to take to gain more allies.”

His mind drifts to the “weapon” beneath the building: the kid in the dungeon. Will Ito use him against them if things come to a fight? Or can Iwaizumi turn him too? Will he even _want_ to? He has no idea what the kid_is_ let alone what he might be capable of. If Iwaizumi lets him out, will that only lead to worse devastation and destruction?

He closes his eyes. He has no idea what the right course of action is. He hates going into anything unprepared, but he feels like there are things he’ll be blind to no matter how well he plans.

“Just be careful, okay?” Oikawa says quietly into the dark. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Be smart about it.”

“_You’re_ lecturing _me_ on unnecessary risks?”

Oikawa ignores that. “And call me if you need backup. You know I’ll be there in a second.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “I know. I’ll be careful.”

He can’t promise this won’t all blow up in his face, but he can make sure he takes the necessary precautions before lighting the match, at least.

Satisfied, for now at least, Oikawa drifts off to sleep, but it takes Iwaizumi some time before he’s able to quiet his thoughts enough to do the same.

* * *

Yahaba’s not entirely sure what’s happened to his brain, exactly. He’s pretty sure it’s broken, somehow. For some reason he can’t get the image of Kyoutani in the bath out of his mind. It’s _horrifying_, because he’ll be sitting at his desk, studying or inputting data into the computer, and the fantasy will rise up out of nowhere. Kyoutani shoving him against the desk, the wall, the mat of the training room, the floor of the bathroom, anywhere really . . . his mouth pressing with bruising force against Yahaba’s, his rough hands gripping his hips, his large dick ramming into him, over and over.

He’ll sit, completely frozen and staring into nothing, until Watari or a customer interrupts him. He’s glad he’s schooled his expression to be pleasantly blank as a default, so he’s pretty sure his thoughts aren’t being broadcast there, but as soon as he catches sight of Kyoutani out of the corner of his eye or turning into one of the aisles, he can feel his heart beating faster involuntarily, and all the blood rushing to his face. He quickly finds an excuse to either look away or busy himself with something else whenever this happens.

If Kyoutani notices anything strange about his behavior, he doesn’t show it, but it _has_ made their training sessions significantly more awkward. Yahaba finds himself growing much too hot each time Kyoutani manages to pin him down, but it does seem to help his reaction time, since he’s quick to avoid such a position whenever possible. He uses magic more than his fists, keeping Kyoutani a respectable distance as often as he can. Since he’s supposed to be working on adding magic to his fighting style anyway, this doesn’t seem to raise any suspicion from Kyoutani.

Unfortunately, Watari is much too observant for his own good, and he _has_ noticed Yahaba acting weird around their Hell Hound companion.

“Did something happen between you and Kyoutani-kun?” he asks one day when the clinic is empty.

“What?” Yahaba sits up straight in his seat, glancing around for said Kyoutani. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be anywhere in the immediate vicinity, but that doesn’t help him relax. He stares as blankly as he can back at Watari, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Well . . . the other night, when me and Kyoutani went out to eat and you stayed behind to practice strengthening your magic . . . Kyoutani went back to the training facility after we were done. And now you’re, like, actively trying to avoid him so . . .”

Yahaba shakes his head. “No, nothing happened. Nothing at all.” He stops when he realizes he’s repeating himself.

“Oh.” Watari looks strangely disappointed.

“He was waiting outside when I got done in the bath, and we went to get something hot to drink since it was cold out, and then . . . I went home. Nothing happened.”

“So . . . why are you avoiding him then?”

Yahaba grimaces. “I’m not . . .” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Watari gives him a look that says he obviously doesn’t believe him, but thankfully a client interrupts them before he can take the interrogation any further.

_Unfortunately_, the client is Oikawa Tooru, who asks about Kyoutani almost immediately after signing in for his appointment.

“How’s training going with Kyouken-chan?” he asks with interest.

“Fine,” Yahaba says slowly, feeling his fight or flight response engage.

“Is he teaching you a lot of new things?” Oikawa’s smirking, now, and Yahaba wonders how in the world he could’ve picked up on . . . whatever is happening when he’s barely around to see it.

“I’ve improved my fighting capabilities, yes,” Yahaba states, refusing to take the bait.

“Good, that’s good.” Oikawa taps his fingertips absently on the top of the receptionist desk, glancing around the waiting area.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Oikawa-san? Watari-san will be with you in a moment.”

Oikawa turns back to him with a grin. “So dismissive of your senpai! Are you hiding something, Yahaba-kun?”

“I simply want you to be comfortable while you wait,” Yahaba says blandly.

Oikawa laughs. “You’re good, I’ll give you that,” he says, pushing off the desk. “Well! I expect to see some interesting things from you in the future~”

Before Yahaba can ask what the hell he means by that, Watari’s mother opens the door to her office and calls Oikawa inside. Yahaba watches him go, not relaxing until he sees the door shut firmly behind him.

He can’t hide behind a mask forever. He knows that, but he struggles to find a solution to his problem. The easiest answer would be to quit his job and move away, but he can’t exactly do that with his license exam so close within reach. The most practical, yet most embarrassing, answer is to find some way to get Kyoutani to fuck him and get it over with. He’s pretty sure it’s all just repressed libido for which he’s had no real outlet in, well, forever. Having always been more interested in learning magic and becoming a Demon Hunter, he’s never been in any type of relationship.

He highly doubts Kyoutani _wants_ to fuck him, though, which presents a major issue for the practical answer.

_I only need to survive nine more weeks of this. Two months, seven days. I can manage that._

Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t have his hand to turn to when the fantasies come at night. It’s a temporary fix, but it’ll have to do. Once he resigns himself to this fact, it becomes somewhat easier to banish the images when they come to him during the day. Filing them away with the knowledge he’ll access them later keeps his frustration to a minimum.

Then, he fucks up.

It happens involuntarily. An instinct born from too much time dwelt on specific scenarios that involve Kyoutani on top of him. As the Hell Hound ducks around his magic sword and knocks him to the ground, he lands with one knee against the mat between Yahaba’s legs, as his hands grab Yahaba’s wrists to pin them down. He brings his head back, as though to head-butt him, but as he moves forward to do so, his thigh presses just slightly against Yahaba’s crotch, and his hips jerk upward automatically, grinding back against the pressure, a moan catching in his throat at how good it feels.

Immediately, Kyoutani freezes. Yahaba, realizing what just happened, stares back at him in horror, his eyes widening. Kyoutani glances down, but Yahaba’s already moving, scrambling out of Kyoutani’s slackened grip and shoving him back to make his escape. His face feels as though it’s on fire, and he curses repeatedly under his breath, as he makes it to the toilets and locks himself inside.

He grips the edge of the sink, staring at his flushed face in the mirror. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and when he checks his situation and sees he’s still half-hard, a groan of frustration rises from deep within his chest. He slams his hand against the wall, gritting his teeth and trying his best to think of turn-offs.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

He’s going to know. He has to know. Yahaba’s given himself away at the _worst_ possible time. Kyoutani will no doubt refuse to work with him, now, leaving Yahaba stranded without a partner nine weeks from his exam. He’s not ready, yet. He knows that. He’s gotten better, gotten stronger and faster, but there’s no way he’s on par with Oikawa. He won’t impress the council with the skills he has now. He still has so much more to learn, so much more room to grow.

He’s ruined it. His stupid hormones just ruined everything. He thought he had better control. He thought he’d dealt with it. So _why—_

“Um, Yahaba-kun?” Watari’s voice comes from behind the door, as he knocks on it lightly. “Are you okay?”

Shit. Watari saw it too, didn’t he? He was right there, watching everything.

Yahaba sighs, knowing he can’t hide anything now. He runs a hand through his hair, stepping up to the sink again to splash some cold water on his face. Once he’s patted it dry with some paper-towels, most of the redness has faded. He turns toward the door and unlocks it, allowing Watari to step inside.

“Hey, sorry,” he says, sliding his pleasant yet obscure mask back into place. “I . . . really needed to pee.”

Watari regards him skeptically. “It’s okay that you’re attracted to him, you know,” he says after a moment. “I think it surprised him, but it doesn’t seem like he’s . . . _mad_ about it.”

“Ugh.” Yahaba covers his face with his hands, pressing his back against the wall and sliding down to sit. “I really tried not to be,” he admits after a moment.

“Why?” Watari asks, moving to sit beside him.

Yahaba drops his hands, glancing sidelong at his friend incredulously. “Shinji, he’s an _animal_. Like, I mean, he’s _literally_ a creature from a Hell dimension.”

“So? It’s not like you’re attracted to his animal form. He looks human. He basically is human, I think. I mean, he _seems_ like he is so . . . why feel bad about being attracted to him when he looks and acts like one?”

Yahaba blinks. “You’re forgetting the fact that he also hates me,” he points out when he can’t come up with anything better.

Watari gives him a look. “You can’t seriously think that,” he says, shaking his head. “Kyoutani doesn’t _hate_ you, Yahaba. I’m pretty sure he admires you, actually.”

“Admires _me_?” That can’t be right.

Watari nods. “I think he considers you, like, a worthy opponent, you know? You meet him at his level.”

“Have you _seen_ how many times he’s thrown me on my ass?”

“Yeah, but you always get back up again. And he doesn’t knock you down as much anymore. You’re getting stronger, better, and I think he respects that.”

Yahaba hesitates, remembering the way Kyoutani carried him home that night after he ran into the lamppost. He was practically delirious at the time, but . . . there was something different there, between them. Something not born out of sexual frustration. An almost . . . camaraderie?

He runs his hands over his face a few times. “Is he still out there?” he asks behind them.

“Yeah.”

“Ugh. I think I’m just going to go home. There’s no way I can explain myself coherently after . . . _that_.”

“I don’t think you have to explain yourself. I think it’d be better if you stayed, picked up where you left off. If you go home, it might look like running away.”

“I _am_ running away.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he’ll respect you very much for it.”

Yahaba grits his teeth, wanting to tell Watari that he doesn’t _care_ what Kyoutani thinks of him. Except . . . that’s not true, is it? He _does_ care. He cares probably more than he should, and that just makes this mess all the more confusing.

“So, what, I go back in there and pretend like nothing happened to keep from looking like a coward?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

Yahaba sighs, pushing himself up off the floor to stand. Watari follows suit, giving him a small smile. He reaches up to pat Yahaba’s back gently. “It’ll be fine.”

Yahaba doesn’t share the optimism. Still, not really wanting to look like a coward, he exits the toilets and makes his way back to the training room. Kyoutani’s sitting on the stack of mats in Watari’s usual spot. He looks up in surprise when Yahaba enters, and as he slides off to stand, he’s watching him with a curious expression that Yahaba really doesn’t want to try and unpack just then.

“You are back?”

“Yes, I am back, did you think you’d get rid of me that easily?” Yahaba asks lightly, rubbing his hands together before shaking them out. He pulls up his magic, forming a barrier around himself, a ward against attacks to take less damage if hit.

Kyoutani’s eyes widen when he sees it, before he lowers into a crouch, lips twisting in a small, feral grin that absolutely does _not_ send any sort of shiver up Yahaba’s spine. He shifts his stance as well, bracing for the attack, and when Kyoutani rushes forward, he spins out of the way, smacking him between the shoulder blades with the pommel of the sword he conjures. Kyoutani stumbles, and when he turns back around, Yahaba has hopped back a couple steps, putting distance between them.

He lifts his free hand, beckoning to Kyoutani with his fingers. “That all you got, big boy?”

Kyoutani growls and leaps toward him once more. They enter into a sort of dance: Yahaba spinning away from his attacks of brute force and strength, swiping at him with his sword until he can no longer maintain it, focusing his efforts then on hitting Kyoutani with bolts of low energy magic. Kyoutani’s not quick enough to avoid some of them, and Yahaba feels a rush of excitement each time one hits and Kyoutani responds with a low grunt and retaliates with fangs bared.

They don’t notice Watari’s return. Yahaba can’t help but grin, as he ducks under Kyoutani’s next swing, rolling on the mat to spring to his feet and fire another bolt. Kyoutani’s grinning as well, teeth clenched, eyes sparking with renewed energy. Something has changed, Yahaba can feel it. This doesn’t feel like a beatdown anymore; there’s no animosity, no anger. Yahaba no longer feels like his life is in danger each time Kyoutani rushes him. He doesn’t feel like Kyoutani’s trying to knock him down to prove some kind of point. They’re having _fun_.

It only ends when Yahaba’s magic fails him. He’s tapped out, energy drained, and he collapses before Kyoutani can throw the next punch. Kyoutani stumbles, as his momentum pulls him forward, and he trips over Yahaba. He crashes onto the mat beside him, and Yahaba can’t help but laugh, grabbing his side as he wheezes for breath. There’s a moment before he hears a soft chuckle, and when he glances over, Kyoutani’s rolled onto his back, eyes closed, as he grins.

“Good fight,” he says approvingly with a nod.

Yahaba bites his lip, his chest fluttering in an unfamiliar way. When he sits up, he sees Watari sitting on the pile of mats, watching them with a knowing expression, his lips curved into a small smile. When their eyes meet, his smile widens, and Yahaba feels his cheeks warm.

“Come on,” he says, standing and brushing himself off. He holds his hand out to Kyoutani to help him up. “Let’s go get cleaned up and get something to eat before I crash for real.”

Kyoutani’s grin fades. He looks at Yahaba’s hand for a moment before taking it, allowing him to pull him up. Watari hops off the mats, walking over to join them.

“That was really intense, but it looked like you were having fun,” he observes happily.

Kyoutani and Yahaba glance at each other and then away. Yahaba runs his fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. “Yeah. Yeah, it was fun.”

He doesn’t linger in the bathroom, this time. He showers quickly, keeping his eyes to himself, before drying off and getting changed into fresh clothes, stuffing his dirty ones in his bag to wash later. The three of them head to the Yudas’ restaurant, as they usually do, and by this time Kyoutani’s able to pick out what he wants on his own. Watari’s agreed to tutor him, though they’ve only had a few lessons so far. Yahaba expects Watari will have him reading the full menu in no time, considering how patient he is and how closely Kyoutani seems to listen to him.

It’s strange, how quickly this routine has become the norm, how Yahaba’s come to look forward to it, even. Not just because he’s furthering his skills, but because he feels like the three of them are coming together as a unit, a weird one, but still one that he can rely on. Even Kyoutani he feels he can depend on, in some way. He wonders if maybe there can be more to them than just strange sexual tension on his part. The guy is still pretty guarded, and Yahaba knows nothing about him aside from the fact that he was a soldier in a Class 1 demon’s army before helping Iwaizumi through some shit in Hinokoku and then escaping to find him here in Tokyo. Yahaba wonders if he misses his home at all or if he likes it better in Japan.

There are a lot of things he doesn’t know about Kyoutani, but maybe, eventually, he’ll come to trust Yahaba enough to tell him.

He does crash when he gets home, hitting his pillow and falling asleep almost immediately. He wakes hours later, disoriented, sitting straight up and staring blearily at the window beside his bed. Something woke him. A sound. He sits still and listens for a few minutes before hearing it again. A crash outside in the alley between his house and the neighbor’s. Sliding off his bed, Yahaba approaches the window, peering out into the darkness.

A shape moves in the alley, its gait awkward, form uneven. It takes him a moment to realize it’s an imp. It’s knocked over a trashcan, which tilts back and forth, trash spilling out onto the pavement. The imp hops around it, rifling through some of the bags, tearing them open with its claws. It lifts its head, sniffing the air, before leaping back with a small shriek that causes Yahaba to wince.

A new shape emerges from the shadow of the house, stalking forward in a low crouch. A growl reaches Yahaba’s ear, one that sounds eerily familiar. His eyes widen, realizing who it is a second before the Hell Hound pounces forward. The imp shrieks again, leaping into the air with its wings, long claws swiping down across the Hound’s back. Kyoutani shies away, as he yelps, and Yahaba’s flying out the door before he can think better of it.

He hurries down the stairs, pausing just long enough to slide his feet into a pair of shoes, before he bursts outside, running around to the side of the house. He can see the imp and Kyoutani’s Hound form locked in a struggle. Kyoutani’s got it pinned beneath his giant paws, but the imp sinks its claws into his sides deep enough to cause him to rear back with another yelp.

“Hey!” Yahaba shouts to get the imps attention.

It works, the creature turns its head, red eyes flashing in the dim light of the streetlamps, sharp teeth bared and dripping saliva. It launches itself in the air, flying swiftly toward Yahaba. He brings his palms up, gathering his magic to form a barrier around him, before casting the spell to send a blast of magic toward the imp. It’s not as strong as he thought it’d be, and he realizes belatedly that he hasn’t rested long enough to gain all his energy back, but it does knock the imp to the ground.

Kyoutani bounds forward, spinning around to place himself between the imp and Yahaba, snarling and snapping at it with his teeth. The imp dodges out of the way, trying to get around Kyoutani to Yahaba, but the Hound moves back and forth to keep it at bay. Yahaba fires off another bolt, trying to land another hit on the imp, but it’s too fast, ducking and weaving around each blast, cackling all the while.

Yahaba grits his teeth. It’s smaller and faster than Kyoutani, which makes it harder to hit, though Kyoutani’s larger form and fangs are keeping it from reaching Yahaba, at least. He quickly thinks of what to do, glancing around until his eyes land on the garbage can lid. He darts over to pick it up, turning to slam it into one of the imp’s wings as hard as he can. He hears an audible _crack_ and the imp spins around, anger and pain twisting its features. It jumps at Yahaba, who brings up the garbage can lid to protect himself. It crashes into it, sending Yahaba to the ground, with the imp on top of him. It shrieks in his face, claws reaching around to jab into Yahaba’s side. He cries out in pain as he feels a couple of them pierce his skin.

Then the weight is off of him, dragged away by Kyoutani, who’s grabbed the imp by the broken wing with his teeth. He shakes his head, and the imp swings back and forth before Kyoutani releases it, flinging it into the side of the house. It crumples to the ground with a cry, struggling to stand after a moment. It makes to hop away, apparently giving up, but Yahaba flings the lid at it, knocking it down, before gathering his magic, as swiftly as he can, holding it steady in his chest until the imp starts to get to its feet again. He releases the magic then with a spell, and the imp cries out once more, as it’s incinerated.

Drained, Yahaba drops to his knees, breathing hard. The pain in his side is sharp with each inhale. He moves a shaking hand to his side, applying pressure to the bloodstain that’s seeping through his sleep shirt. Kyoutani’s disappeared somewhere into the shadows, and Yahaba takes a minute to gather his strength. He pushes himself to his feet unsteadily, nearly falling over, but Kyoutani’s at his side, in his human form once more, dressed in the clothes he’d changed into earlier after their training session.

Yahaba frowns, as Kyoutani helps him straighten and leads him back towards the front of the house. “What were you even doing here? It’s the middle of the night,” he asks, trying to keep his mind off the throbbing pain that’s making his vision darken with nearly every step.

Kyoutani doesn’t respond, which Yahaba supposes is typical. They step into the dark, quiet house, and Yahaba’s surprised the commotion outside didn’t wake his parents. Hoping to avoid an interrogation in case they _are_ awake, he gestures for Kyoutani to take him up the stairs, grimacing at the pain the climb causes.

He kicks the door shut when they get to his room, flipping on the light. He pushes away from Kyoutani, leaving him by the door to stumble over to his desk. Inside the top drawer is a healing stone, glowing aquamarine. He’s kept it there for emergencies (in case he accidentally injures himself while practicing in his room), and now definitely feels like one. Making it over to the bed, he sits down heavily, peeling his shirt off, then, and tossing it aside.

His side looks, frankly, terrible. He winces at the sight of the two puncture wounds just beneath his right ribcage, more blood spilling from them as he bends forward. His hand, slick with the stuff, almost drops the stone, but he manages to hold it steady over the wounds, despite the trembling of his fingers. He mutters the spell, grateful for the magic stored within the stone so he doesn’t have to use whatever might be left inside of him. As aquamarine light begins to swirl around his waist, the bleeding slows before it stops altogether, new skin growing within seconds to stop up the holes. It’s a couple more minutes before the wounds are healed completely, and magic glow fades, the stone turning a dull black.

Yahaba inhales deeply before exhaling slowly, checking to make sure there isn’t any internal damage the stone might not’ve been strong enough to heal. Nothing screams out at him, so he figures he must be okay. He’ll have Watari-san look at him in the morning. Lifting his head, he notices Kyoutani staring at him from across the room, still standing next to the door where Yahaba left him. Yahaba frowns, realizing Kyoutani was injured during the fight, too. He stands, setting the stone on his desk, as he approaches the Hell Hound.

“You took damage too, right? Let me see,” he says, reaching for the edge of Kyoutani’s shirt.

Kyoutani’s reaction shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. The Hound shrinks from his hands, hitting the wall with a slight wince. Yahaba sucks in a breath and tells himself to not let his impatience get the better of him. Kyoutani mentioned before that not all of his scars came from the battlefield and, considering how he shies away from most contact that’s not related to sparring, Yahaba has a good idea for how he got the others.

Slowly, he lifts his hands into the air. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, keeping his voice soft and even. “Can you lift up your shirt? I just want to see how much damage you took. I might have enough magic left in me to heal you.”

Kyoutani narrows his eyes, his brows coming together in his signature frown. He doesn’t look angry, though, more . . . confused. Like he can’t believe Yahaba is offering to help him.

“Look, you’re not going to be very much use during training if you’re laid up with a nasty infection,” he says factually. “So you’d better just let me take a look now and save yourself the horrible pain and fever later.”

Kyoutani regards him skeptically, but after a moment he reaches down to pull up his shirt, taking it all the way off, letting it dangle from his fingers a moment before it falls to the floor. Yahaba swallows hard, telling himself to not get distracted by his broad shoulders or thick biceps or . . .

He shakes his head to clear it, focusing in on the deep scratches that the imp left across his shoulder and down his clavicle to his chest. There are more on his back, Yahaba remembers, but for now he focuses on the wounds in front of him. Gathering what remains of his energy, he reaches up and moves his hand cautiously toward the bleeding, broken skin. Kyoutani’s eyes remain fixed on his face, and he doesn’t seem to be breathing, as Yahaba’s fingers ghost over the gouge marks.

Muttering softly, Yahaba releases the magic with a healing spell, similar to the one that had imbued the stone. He carefully moves his fingers up and down the length of each mark, not making contact but concentrating on sending his magic along the entirety of the wounds. His magic is weak, he can tell, but it does the trick. The blood flow stops, then the skin heals over, leaving no trace of the scratches.

“Turn around,” Yahaba instructs weakly, pretty sure it’s only by sheer willpower that he’s still standing right now.

Kyoutani hesitates, and Yahaba nods in what he hopes is a reassuring way. “It’s okay,” he says. “I just want to get the ones on your back.”

Kyoutani shakes his head. “Enough for now,” he says gruffly.

Yahaba frowns; he’s not in the mood for Kyoutani’s stubbornness. “Don’t argue with me,” he snaps. “Turn around.”

Surprisingly, Kyoutani does what he’s told without another word. Now staring at the scratches marring his already scarred back, Yahaba realizes he probably should stop while he’s ahead. He has no idea if he has enough energy right now to heal the multiple wounds on Kyoutani’s expansive back. Steeling himself, he does anyway.

His vision grows dark, and the next thing he knows, he’s lying on his bed and Kyoutani’s gently wiping the blood from his hands with a wet washcloth he must’ve grabbed from the bathroom. They’re still both shirtless, and Yahaba takes a moment to marvel at that, thinking this seems very much in tune with many of his recent dreams. But then Kyoutani sets the washcloth on the bedside table and releases his arm to stand, and Yahaba realizes he’s not asleep.

“Shit, did I pass out?”

Kyoutani nods. “Weak,” he states. “Need rest.”

He turns to go, and something akin to fear grips Yahaba’s chest. He sits up before he can think better of it, immediately growing dizzy, even as he reaches out to grab Kyoutani’s wrist.

“Wait!”

Kyoutani stiffens, glancing down at Yahaba’s hand. He slowly turns his gaze onto Yahaba’s face, but he doesn’t pull away. Swallowing hard, Yahaba gives his wrist a gentle tug. Kyoutani follows the silent command, moving closer to the bed. Not releasing him yet, Yahaba turns to sit with his legs off the side.

“What were you doing here?” he repeats his earlier question. “Oikawa-san’s place is nearly an hour and a half away, by train. How did you get way out here in time to catch that imp?”

Kyoutani won’t meet his gaze. He glowers off to the side and remains silent.

Yahaba stares. “Were you outside my place all night?” he asks, realization dawning on him.

The tip of Kyoutani’s ear that Yahaba can see grows red. Yahaba releases his wrist, leaning back some with a blink.

“Oh.”

“Not weird,” Kyoutani says to defend himself. He turns his frown onto Yahaba. “Iwaizumi not at Oikawa’s. I not like Oikawa. I stay here. Outside. Keep watch.”

“Wait, how long have you been staying here?” Yahaba asks, hating how his voice has risen an octave. This entire time, while Yahaba’s been fantasizing about Kyoutani in this very bed, he’s been right outside in the alley? Even though Kyoutani has no way of knowing what Yahaba’s been thinking about him, he can feel his face growing warm. Then again, he might know _now_, what with the incident earlier. His cheeks are burning.

Kyoutani’s not faring much better, though he’s still scowling like Yahaba’s question has personally offended him. “I keep watch. Guard. It is my job.”

“It was your job in Hinokoku, sure, but you don’t have to stand guard outside my place _now_. You don’t have to stand guard outside my place at all!”

Kyoutani gives him an incredulous look. “Imp outside,” he says, pointing to the window.

“Yeah, but it was just going through the trash. I don’t think it would’ve tried to get in here,” Yahaba says, shaking his head. “Imps aren’t that smart.”

Kyoutani just huffs, obviously thinking his idea to camp outside Yahaba’s house every night for the past couple weeks to “stand guard” makes perfect sense and shouldn’t be questioned. Yahaba sighs and rubs his temples, not entirely sure what to make of the situation.

“It’s not that I’m not . . . grateful,” he says finally, staring at the floor to avoid looking Kyoutani in the eye. “It’s just . . .”

He doesn’t know what he wants to say. Everything is too damn complicated all of a sudden. All he wants to do is pass his exam well enough to make a lasting impression, to gain traction in the Demon Hunter community with a good, solid reputation and make his parents (and himself) proud. Now he’s stuck with a Hell Hound who is _way_ too attractive for his own good and has somehow decided Yahaba’s worth protecting.

“Why?”

Kyoutani blinks, meeting Yahaba’s frown with a confused one of his own.

“Why did you come to _my_ house to stand guard? Watari’s not that far from here. You could’ve done the same at his place. Why me? You don’t even _like_ me.”

Kyoutani’s frown darkens, the confusion giving way to annoyance. “You make up things about me. Think I am one way and only one way. You think I am bad. Only bad. Only monster.”

Yahaba feels a pang of guilt hit his chest. He looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together in his lap. “I . . . don’t think you’re a monster,” he says softly.

“I know monsters. I see in Hinokoku. Master is monster. I am not like Master,” Kyoutani says flatly, anger simmering beneath his tone.

Yahaba shakes his head, lifting it to say once more, with finality this time, “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Kyoutani studies him, brows still furrowed, trying to see if Yahaba is lying. He’s not entirely sure what his face is doing, but he’s sincere about this, at least. Maybe at first Yahaba thought that, but things are different now. He’s different. He hasn’t seen Kyoutani do a single monstrous thing since he arrived, or even a _bad_ thing, really. He can’t help what he is, and while he could probably stand to not scowl so much and scare away customers and patients, maybe that’s just a defense mechanism. A way to keep people from getting too close; to keep them from hurting him . . .

“Your scars,” he says softly, eyes lowering to the ones directly in his line of sight on Kyoutani’s chest. “The ones you didn’t get in battle . . . your master gave them to you, didn’t he?”

The silence speaks for itself. Inhaling slowly, Yahaba reaches out, lightly touching the scar he’s staring at, running his fingertips along the curvature of it. Kyoutani’s skin twitches under his touch, and he can hear the sharp inhale of surprise from the Hound. He doesn’t look up or stop, his fingers jumping from one scar to the next. It’s a roadmap of pain and misery, and Yahaba’s chest aches as he imagines Kyoutani cowering in front of a Class 1 demon, as he receives one strike after another for who knows what reason.

“You’re not a monster,” Yahaba agrees once more, lifting his gaze to look up into Kyoutani’s face. He’s staring back at him, eyes wide, pupils dilated. Yahaba can feel his face growing warm once more, but he doesn’t look away. “You’re right. The thing that did this to you . . . that’s the monster. I’m glad you got away from it.”

Kyoutani reaches down, taking Yahaba’s wrist and pulling it away from where it’s traveled down to his stomach. He doesn’t immediately drop it, though, but instead shifts his hand so that he’s now holding Yahaba’s. He lowers to his knees in front of him, bowing his head, as he presses the back of Yahaba’s hand against his forehead.

Yahaba swallows back the lump forming in his throat. What does this mean? What is he trying to say with this? His heart pounds rapidly in his ears, as he turns his hand in Kyoutani’s grasp, lightly running his fingers across his temple to his cheek. He places his palm against it, curling his fingers around the back of Kyoutani’s head. He presses in gently, just enough to indicate he wants Kyoutani to look up. He does, his expression guarded, looking as uncertain as Yahaba feels.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Yahaba leans down, covering Kyoutani’s mouth with his own. He can feel the way Kyoutani stiffens, but he squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t pull away. After a moment, he feels Kyoutani’s chest against his knees, as he leans forward into the kiss, returning it with a deep longing that surprises Yahaba. _What does this mean? Does he actually like me, then? Has he been thinking about this too?_

It’s a waste of time to wonder about it. Yahaba leans back, but he keeps his hand wrapped around the back of Kyoutani’s head, bringing him with him. Kyoutani straightens, crawling on top of him, as Yahaba falls back against the bed. The warm, heavy weight of him feels reassuring, and while Yahaba’s fantasies have been driven by lust and the expectation of the type of animalistic passion that’s exciting and new, Kyoutani’s touch is gentle, as he rests one hand against Yahaba’s newly restored side and the other maintains his balance on the mattress beside Yahaba’s head.

He kisses Yahaba like he’s not entirely sure it’s really happening, his lips soft and explorative, brushing and pressing with hesitation. Yahaba responds with some impatience, running his teeth along Kyoutani’s bottom lip to tug on it, slipping his tongue past it afterwards. Kyoutani rears back slightly when their tongues make contact, and he blinks down at Yahaba with a faint frown.

“What is this?” he asks, his voice rough in a way that sends the heat surging south within Yahaba beneath him.

Yahaba coughs an awkward laugh. “Uh. What does it look like?” he asks, suddenly not sure what to expect at all.

Kyoutani’s frown deepens, and he doesn’t respond immediately. His hand at Yahaba’s side shifts upward, his palm sliding along Yahaba’s ribcage up his chest to his clavicle. He rests it there, thumb stroking along the bone that pokes out. Yahaba shivers, wondering if he needs to explain what sex is. He didn’t think he’d need to, and it’s not like he’s an expert on the subject, so he finds himself floundering a bit.

“Do you not—”

“I mount other Hell Hounds. Sometimes Master gives me pleasure demons to mount.”

“O-oh.” Yahaba’s breath trembles on the exhale. So, he does have experience.

Kyoutani’s gaze remains on his hand, as his thumb continues its gentle trail along the curve of Yahaba’s collarbone. “Human . . . different. Yahaba is different.” His frown deepens. “I . . . not hurt.”

“You’re afraid of hurting me?” Yahaba asks, surprised. “When we spar you fling me around all the time!”

Kyoutani snorts, rolling his eyes. “Not the same,” he says, like this should be obvious. “We fight in training room. Here . . . not fight.”

“I’m not made of glass, Kyoutani-kun,” Yahaba says, resisting the urge to roll his own eyes.

Kyoutani gives him a withering look. “I know this,” he says sharply. “You not understand. I not . . . when I mount, before, it is . . .” He falters, growling low in his throat in frustration. “Master mount many demons, even Hell Hounds, me sometimes. It always hurt. He . . . likes the hurt. Sometimes even kill the demon he mounts.”

Yahaba’s eyes grow wide. “That’s . . . awful,” he says softly after a moment, not sure what else to say.

Kyoutani nods in agreement. “Mounting . . . bad. It feel good but . . . hurt.” He sighs, sitting back on his heels, even as he remains straddling Yahaba’s thighs. “I not hurt.” He shakes his head, frowning in determination.

“It’s not always like that,” Yahaba says, sitting up slowly. He has no experience to speak from, but he knows this, at least. “It can feel good, for both parties, if-if you do it right. If both people doing it say it’s okay and they . . . check to make sure everything feels good and is okay throughout . . . it’s not a bad thing, that way. It’s pretty great, actually. Or . . . so I hear.”

Kyoutani regards him skeptically. “Yahaba can feel good when I mount?”

“Um.” Yahaba’s face feels hot once more. “Yeah. I mean, we can make sure it does. Together. You know, figure out what feels good and what doesn’t . . . if-if you want to.”

Kyoutani’s expression turns thoughtful. He lifts his hand, gently pressing it against Yahaba’s chest to push him back down onto the bed. Yahaba moves willingly, pulling his legs up from where they’d still been dangling off the edge of the bed, shifting around to lay properly. Kyoutani shifts with him, giving him space to move, before settling over him once more. He tilts his head to the side, trailing his hand down Yahaba’s chest toward his stomach.

“Okay?” he asks, brow furrowed in concentration.

Yahaba’s throat closes up, but he nods, swallowing hard past the lump in order to speak. “Y-yes.”

_Is this really about to happen?_

Kyoutani shifts down, placing his hands at the waistband of Yahaba’s pajama pants. He hesitates, glancing up at Yahaba’s face once more. “Okay?”

Yahaba nods again, his heart beating a rapid tattoo against the inside of his ribcage, threatening to burst out. Kyoutani removes his pants, tossing them aside. He seems to realize he’s still wearing his own, and he pauses to undo them. In an effort to not stare, Yahaba turns his gaze toward the ceiling, trying to get his breathing under control before he hyperventilates.

He really, _really_ hopes his parents stay asleep or at least mind their own business. The last thing he needs is for one of them to come knocking on his door in the middle of this.

Kyoutani’s face moves into his line of vision, brows still drawn together. “Okay?” he asks.

Yahaba nods, reaching up to gently press his thumb against the wrinkle in Kyoutani’s forehead, smoothing it out. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he assures him, grinning faintly. “You shouldn’t scowl so much, Kyoutani-kun. You’re going to get premature wrinkles and look like an old man soon.”

Kyoutani blinks, not having expected the jab, apparently, and he grunts softly in annoyance. Some of the strange tension is gone now, though, and Yahaba laughs softly, the tightness in his chest easing. His laugh cuts off with a soft hitch, as Kyoutani grabs his thighs and tugs him closer. Looking down, Yahaba realizes Kyoutani’s naked, now, and the blood rushes to his face once more.

“Shit,” he gasps, and Kyoutani pauses with his hands on Yahaba’s boxer briefs, tilting his head. “No, I mean, it’s okay, I’m good,” Yahaba assures him quickly, not wanting him to stop.

Kyoutani continues, stripping Yahaba of his last piece of clothing. Yahaba bites his lip, more heat flooding through him, as Kyoutani takes a moment to look him over slowly. He resists the urge to curl inward, reminding himself that this is what he’s been fantasizing about for days now. Maybe not exactly this scenario, but . . .

“What are you doing?” Yahaba asks, when Kyoutani remains still, hands on either side of Yahaba’s hips. Anxiety curls through his stomach, wondering if Kyoutani’s having second thoughts again.

Kyoutani’s head snaps up, and a flush has gathered on his own cheeks. “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. He leans forward, hovering over Yahaba a moment before kissing him. This time, it’s hungry, needy, and Yahaba responds in kind, grateful that it seems they’re finally past the awkward, tentative stage. When he pushes his tongue against Kyoutani’s this time, he pushes back with a low moan that sends a shiver up Yahaba’s spine. His fingers dig into Kyoutani’s back, as he pulls him closer, and Kyoutani’s hands grip Yahaba’s sides firmly.

Yahaba feels lightheaded, though he’s not sure if that’s a result from this experience of his earlier expenditure of magical energy. He doesn’t feel as exhausted as before, though, apparently having hit some second wind. Or maybe he’s just so horny it’s sustaining him. Whatever’s happening, Yahaba hopes it doesn’t stop.

Kyoutani’s panting against his lips, and Yahaba can feel his hardening erection pressing against his thigh. His own twitches in response, and he lifts his hips, dragging it across Kyoutani’s abdomen as best he can. Kyoutani shudders, and Yahaba grins around the kiss.

“Drawer,” he mutters into the next one.

“What?” Kyoutani grunts in response.

“The-the drawer, inside . . .” Yahaba pulls away, reaching for his bedside table drawer. He opens it, feeling around inside for a moment before finding the lube. Already half-empty thanks to his nighttime fantasies as of late, but he refuses to be embarrassed about it in that moment. It’s not like Kyoutani knows what it means. In fact, he doesn’t seem to recognize it at all. He recoils slightly when Yahaba taps it against his arm.

“What is this?” he asks, taking it with a frown.

“Uh, you . . . use it. On your . . .” Yahaba gestures vaguely downward. “When you . . . mount me. So it doesn’t hurt. I mean, it’s going to hurt a bit but that’s why . . . you, uh, use it on your fingers first to . . . or I can use it on mine to show . . . here, just—” Flustered and not sure how to explain, he pushes Kyoutani back and takes the lube from him.

Squeezing some out onto his fingers, he hesitates before reaching down between his legs. Kyoutani’s eyes widen, as he watches Yahaba press a finger into himself with a grimace. Yahaba looks away, gritting his teeth and telling himself it’s not awkward. It’s good for Kyoutani to see this, to know for in the future . . .

_In the future what? You think you’re going to do this again? Aren’t you just getting your rocks off so you can go on with your life without wondering what it’d be like to fuck the guy?_

He ignores the intrusive thought, not wanting to think about what all this might mean later. In the moment, right now, he wants this, and it seems like Kyoutani does too, because a few minutes pass before he takes Yahaba’s wrist and pulls his fingers out. He takes the lube, coating his own fingers with it, before pushing Yahaba back down against the mattress and looming over him once more. He reaches down and presses one finger against Yahaba’s entrance. His eyes remain fixed on Yahaba’s face, as he slowly pushes it in.

Yahaba bites his lip, stifling a whimper at the unfamiliar feel of another’s finger inside of him. He closes his eyes to avoid Kyoutani’s intense gaze, panting softly. The finger moves slowly, shifting around and then retracting before returning. The pressure is different at this angle, and Yahaba grips Kyoutani’s arm where it’s propping him up over him.

“Shit,” he gasps, grimacing as Kyoutani adds a second finger. His hips roll upwards slightly to meet the gentle push and pull. Kyoutani can go deeper than Yahaba can, and he does, pressing further and stretching him wider.

“Okay?” Kyoutani asks gruffly, even as he continues thrusting his fingers back and forth into him.

Yahaba nods quickly. “Y-yeah. Yes, it’s-it’s good. Y-You’re doing good.”

The heat spreads through him faster, as Kyoutani picks up the pace, and Yahaba curls his toes some, his cock twitching against his abdomen. He can feel pre-cum starting to leak onto his skin, but he curls his fingers into the sheets under him instead of touching himself. He’s afraid if he does he’s going to lose it too soon.

“Y-You can . . . I’m good, I-I think,” he gasps after a moment.

“Good?”

“You can . . . you can fuck me now.”

“Fuck?” Kyoutani sounds confused.

“Uh, mount.” Yahaba huffs a soft laugh, feeling awkward using the word. He wonders briefly if it’s wise to continue without protection, but in all his studies he hasn’t encountered any text that addresses any sort of sexually transmitted diseases from a demon or a Hell Hound. Besides, he doesn’t _have_ any condoms here, and he really doesn’t want to take the time to run down the street right now to buy some. It’s stupid, probably, but he knows spells that can purge disease and poison from a human body, and there’s always Watari’s potions, too, so he figures he’s safe.

The pressure disappears, as Kyoutani pulls his fingers out. Yahaba’s hips relax against the mattress, and he hears Kyoutani squeezing more lube out. He opens his eyes just enough to peek down and watch, as Kyoutani begins to coat his erection with the lubricant. He grunts softly as he does, his shoulders bowing inward slightly, trembling. Yahaba’s heart pounds loudly in his ears, and his blood feels like it’s boiling in his veins. Kyoutani glances up, catching Yahaba’s gaze, and he quickly looks away, squeezing his eyes shut again.

He feels Kyoutani’s hands on his thighs, then, spreading his legs apart. He moves with the guidance willingly, tensing automatically even though he knows that’s the opposite of what he should be doing. Kyoutani pulls him closer, and then the bed shifts. Yahaba feels the faint brush of lips across his cheek, and it startles him. He turns his head, opening his eyes to look up at Kyoutani, and the Hound has the audacity to smirk at him, as he pushes into him.

Yahaba bites his lip to stifle the cry that rises up, his hips jerking upward in response to the intrusion. He tries to relax, but the stretch is more than he anticipated, and pain tingles through his ass and down his thighs, as they quiver on either side of Kyoutani’s hips. His knuckles ache, as he grips the hell out of the sheets, and Kyoutani pauses, tilting his head.

“Hurt?” he asks with a frown.

“Ju-just a bit,” Yahaba gasps. He grabs Kyoutani’s arm, gripping it tightly. “Don’t move.”

Kyoutani doesn’t. He waits with surprising patience, considering how hard he is, until Yahaba’s able to catch his breath and relax. He nods after a moment.

“Okay,” he says breathlessly. “Okay, move.”

Kyoutani does, slowly. He pushes forward, sinking deeper into Yahaba, who manages to suppress the whimper that follows the stretch. When he bottoms out, Kyoutani pauses once more, eyes scanning Yahaba’s face. He pats Kyoutani’s arm in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, because he can’t manage to use words right now. The feeling is strange, painful, and wonderful at the same time. He feels full in a way he’s never experienced before, and all he wants is for Kyoutani to give him _more._

Kyoutani shifts, bracing his hands on either side of Yahaba. He bends down to kiss him, as he begins to make shallow thrusts, swallowing Yahaba’s gasp and moan. He groans, a low sound that rumbles through his chest, and brushes his lips across Yahaba’s cheek before resting his head against the pillow beside his head.

“Yahaba . . . feel good,” he mutters, as he moves.

“Shit, uh, I mean, good, yeah, th-that’s good,” Yahaba pants, grimacing as the pain from the stretch begins to dull to an ache that starts to feel rather good, too. His erection rubs just slightly against Kyoutani’s stomach with each of his thrusts, which sends tingles of pleasure through him as well.

One hand still gripping the sheets beneath him, Yahaba brings the other up to push into the soft hair at the back of Kyoutani’s head. He turns his head, kissing the tip of his flushed ear, moaning against it. Kyoutani twitches, and his hips stutter out of rhythm before falling back into it, picking up speed. Yahaba grimaces, bracing his heels against Kyoutani’s back as best he can. One of Kyoutani’s hands moves down to grip his ass, shifting the angle so he’s thrusting deeper, now.

Yahaba inhales sharply, as he feels a spark of pleasure that burns much hotter than anything he’s felt previously. “Fuck,” he gasps, fingers digging into Kyoutani’s hair. “Fuck, K-Kyoutani. That’s . . . right there.”

Kyoutani seems to understand, because he moves against that spot again, and again, causing Yahaba to bite down on his shoulder to muffle the cries that well up. Pleasure prickles through every vein of his body, and he feels much too warm. He can feel his climax building already, with Kyoutani hitting his prostate and rubbing against his sensitive cock, that continues to spill pre-cum over his skin, making the movement between them slick and wet.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Yahaba mutters, not sure how much longer he can last.

Kyoutani grunts softly with his thrusts, another moan shaking his chest, as his hips move faster out of pure instinct, it seems. He’s lost to the pleasure, but that’s fine with Yahaba, because he’s too far gone to notice any pain, now. It takes a conscious effort to not yell, as he reaches completion, his head falling back against the pillow as he clenches his jaw and rides out the wave of pleasure that crashes over him. Kyoutani must feel him trembling beneath him, feel the warm liquid smearing across his stomach. He shoves into Yahaba a few more times before he stiffens, as well, and Yahaba feels him come inside of him, filling him with sticky heat.

“Fuck,” he gasps, shuddering at the strange sensation.

Kyoutani’s chest heaves with his own, as they lay there panting together for a moment. He moves, then, pulling out carefully, as his lips trail down Yahaba’s chest toward his stomach. Yahaba closes his eyes, shivering in the sudden chill of his room, as Kyoutani’s warmth leaves him. He feels the wet drag of Kyoutani’s tongue, as it swipes through the liquid on his abdomen. Surprised, Yahaba sits up on one elbow, looking down at Kyoutani.

“What are you doing?” he asks breathlessly.

Kyoutani lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yahaba taste good, too,” he says with a smirk, like it’s nothing.

“Ohhh boy,” Yahaba falls back against his pillow, covering his face with his hands to hide his embarrassment.

Kyoutani chuckles, the bastard, and then Yahaba feels the bed shift, as he gets up. He peers through his fingers, as the Hound makes his way over to the toilet attached to the room. He disappears inside then comes back with another wet washcloth. Again, Yahaba is surprised. He didn’t think a guy who only knew violent ways of having sex would know about aftercare.

But he sits beside Yahaba and holds out the washcloth, face, neck and shoulders still flushed. Yahaba sits up slowly and takes it. “Thanks . . .” he says softly, quickly wiping himself clean.

Kyoutani grabs a couple tissues from the box by the bed to do the same to himself. Yahaba hesitates, not entirely sure what to do now. His chest aches strangely at the thought of Kyoutani just _leaving_ after all that.

“So, um, you can . . . stay. If you want,” Yahaba says into the lengthening silence.

Kyoutani glances sidelong at him with a faint frown. “Stay?”

“Yeah, I mean, I can get the extra futon out of the closet that Watari uses when he stays over sometimes. It’s not a big deal.” Yahaba shakes his head, shivering again and reaching for his clothes to pull on next. Kyoutani remains where he is, not moving to get dressed.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Yahaba chides, walking over to grab a pair of boxers and pajama pants and a faded t-shirt that’s been stretched out by age from his dresser to toss over to Kyoutani. They smack him in the chest, and he starts, catching them before they can fall.

It takes a moment, but slowly Kyoutani stands and changes into them. The pants are a little too long, pooling around his heels, and Yahaba tries his hardest to not find that cute. He steps over to the closet, opening it and disappearing inside to get the extra futon out to spread it on the floor a couple feet from his bed. He finds a clean sheet, a blanket, and a pillow, and walks over to set these on the futon.

Kyoutani’s still watching him with confusion. “You . . . want me to stay?”

“Well, it’s like . . . three in the morning or something,” Yahaba says, ruffling his hair absently. He doesn’t meet the questioning gaze. “And . . . we both have to go into work in a few hours so . . . no point in you going all the way back to Oikawa-san’s just to turn around and come back this way.”

He moves back into bed, his limbs feeling weak. There’s a weird shivery feeling in his chest, and a _lot_ of half-formed thoughts in his head that he does _not_ want to take the time to unpack just then. He doesn’t look over to see Kyoutani’s expression. He casts a small spell to flip the light-switch, sending the room into darkness, before he lays down and turns to face the wall.

“Goodnight, Kyoutani-kun,” he says hesitantly after a moment.

There’s silence and then a soft grunt. “Night.”

Despite having just done the thing he’s been spending hours daydreaming about and agonizing about, he feels oddly . . . unsatisfied. It unsettles him. What started as mere attraction born from curiosity has grown into something . . . more. He doesn’t know what that “more” is, though, or what it all means, or how to address it, so he decides to just ignore it for now.

It’s not like he expects Kyoutani to stick around once he completes his license exam.

Their partnership will be over in a mere nine weeks, and they’ll be going their separate ways, so there’s really no point in pursuing this any further.

Yahaba hates how empty that makes him feel over what just happened, so he closes his eyes and tries not to think about it as he falls asleep.

* * *

Hanamaki sits with his back against the stone wall of the cave he called home for so many years. Outside, a light snow falls, gathering at the entrance. Some flurries blow in with the wind, but they don’t make it far before melting in the heat of the fire burning in the center of the cave. On the other side of the fire, seated against the opposite wall, Matsukawa glances around, observing the charcoal drawings on the wall, the blanket of dark purple fur lying across a bed of black moss and bright red wood.

“So. This is your place?”

Hanamaki nods. There’s no _actual_ heat from the fire, but he doesn’t feel the cold from the snow either. They’re in Matsukawa’s mind, only for the first time Hanamaki hasn’t constructed the Kunimis’ study or some random guest bedroom. This time, he’s brought Matsukawa to the one place he’s never shared with anyone. It feels weird, to be here in such an old, familiar place, and have someone from a completely different time in his life there with him.

But it feels kind of nice, too. Like he can finally relax.

“Demons in Kouriki, at least, of my species, we’re hatched in caves like this, on our own, forcing us to either find a way to survive or die in the elements.”

Matsukawa frowns, glancing across the fire at Hanamaki. “Sounds brutal.”

Hanamaki shrugs. “It’s our way. I managed it.”

“So, do you have any brothers or sisters?” Matsukawa asks, bringing his long legs up and lightly wrapping his arms around them.

“Probably, but I’ve never met them.” Hanamaki glances around the cave. “Officials of the king come and check out these mountain caves every few years or so, clear them out to conscript us into the army. We’re allowed to come back once we serve at least a decade, but there’s training we have to go through before that. Kinda like what we do with Akira-kun, only my teachers were nowhere near as nice and hot as you.” He smirks.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “How long did you serve before Kunimi-san’s father summoned you?”

“Oh, I didn’t serve. He got me near the end of my training. I was just a teenager, really. Maybe around Akira-kun’s age.”

Matsukawa blinks in surprise. “Oh.” He frowns, then. “Is that when the . . . experimentation started, too?”

Hanamaki shakes his head. “No, no, that came later. I didn’t mind serving Rui. He treated me like a servant, but he didn’t treat me _poorly_. Eiji, though . . . he’s always been a brat.” He grins through gritted teeth. “He’s the one that started the experiments, after he passed his license exam and took over my contract.”

Matsukawa’s eyes widen. “Wait, so if your contract passed to Kunimi-san after he got his license, does that mean Akira-kun will own your contract when he passes the exam?”

“Technically that’s how it’s supposed to work, but I’m not sure Eiji’s ready to give me up, just yet,” Hanamaki admits. “Akira-kun’s still got a few years before his license exam, but even so . . . I don’t really see Eiji giving up control like that.”

Matsukawa sighs, running his hands over his face. “How can you be so . . . chill about all of this?”

“I’m not. I just have an excellent poker face.”

Matsukawa shoots him a withering look from over his fingers. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he admits with a sigh, lowering his hands.

“Do what?”

“Make light of everything you’re going through like it’s no big deal.”

Hanamaki sighs. “Mattsun, that’s the only way I get through it,” he admits, feeling extremely tired all of a sudden. “I know I’m up shit’s creek with this contract . . . the least I can do is joke about it to make myself feel a bit better. Honestly, I probably would’ve tried to kill myself a long time ago to keep Eiji from getting his hands on any of my blood if that was something I could do. But it’d break the contract so . . .”

Matsukawa’s staring at him, horrified. Hanamaki shoots him a small, reassuring smile, holding up his hands quickly.

“Don’t worry! I don’t think like that anymore. Not really. Ever since Akira-kun was born . . . I stick it out for him, mainly. Leaving that kid alone in a house like that . . .” He shakes his head. “Bad idea.”

Matsukawa purses his lips. “Speaking of, when are you going to tell him what’s really going on in that basement?”

Hanamaki blinks. “Never? I told you, I’m not going to burden him with that when there’s nothing he can do about it.”

Matsukawa sighs in frustration. “I can’t believe you just . . . suffered alone without telling anyone.”

“Hey, I wasn’t alone,” Hanamaki reminds him, gesturing around them. “I came to visit you, didn’t I? It’s a nice distraction, being with you. You’re fun to tease and, you know, talk to and stuff.” He grins.

Matsukawa looks away, staring off at the snow that’s falling outside the mouth of the cave. Hanamaki lets him, content to sit in companionable silence for a while. It’s better than being on his own. He barely even feels the pain in his arm anymore.

“Iwaizumi approached me today,” Matsukawa says after a moment, looking back at Hanamaki.

“You better not have let him take advantage of you. You’re worth at _least_ hundred thousand yen a night.”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’m not his type.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know? I’ve never met the guy!”

“Ah. He . . . he was a few years behind me in our training classes. I went into tutoring, but he became a Demon Hunter. Was one of the best in the coven, actually, until he apparently stole the council’s portal pendant and fled. Nobody heard from him in over a year and most of us thought he was dead, but he showed up at headquarters a couple weeks ago and now he’s like . . . the janitor?”

“Wow, some reception!”

“Yeah, but apparently he _is_ the guy Kindaichi-kun got to help him with his plan to expose the demon contracts and get the White Rose disbanded. He asked me for my help.”

Hanamaki whistles. “That’s ballsy of him. How did he know you were down for revolution?”

“Maybe I give off a rebellious vibe.”

Hanamaki snorts, remembering how Matsukawa dresses when he’s working: all suits and briefcases. _Briefcases_.

“So, are you going to help him?” Hanamaki studies him over the dancing flames of the fire, the flickering light casting uneven shadows across Matsukawa’s face and masking his expression briefly.

“I told you I’d help Kindaichi-kun, so . . . yes, I’ll be helping him.”

“What does he want you to do?”

“He wants me to try and find out if any of the council members have private work laptops or tablets that might have demon contract info on them. He hasn’t been able to find anything on their office computers.”

Hanamaki remembers Eiji’s laptop, always sitting on the counter while he conducts his experiments. It’s full of notes on him and probably includes the details of the contract as well. But he always takes it with him once he’s done, and Hanamaki’s never seen where Eiji puts it afterwards. He could try to look into his mind to find it, but . . . Eiji’s probably got strong wards, and breaking through them would be a breach of contract.

“Eiji’s got a laptop,” he says aloud. “I don’t know where he puts it when he’s not in the basement with me, but it’s got all sorts of dirty little secrets on it. If you could get your hands on it . . .”

“When does he usually conduct his experiments on you?”

Hanamaki sighs. “After dark when his wife and the kid are already in bed.”

“Hm, so it’d probably be pretty suspicious if I hung around until then. But . . . maybe if I make myself invisible, I could follow him when he’s done and see where he puts it and nick it from there.”

Hanamaki squints over at him. “You really think that can work?”

“Maybe? It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“And what happens if Eiji catches you? He’s going to turn you in to the council and you’ll be stripped of your magic, probably.”

Matsukawa snorts. “That old man? I can take him.”

Hanamaki grins. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more attracted to you,” he states, his heart swelling so big it could burst from his chest.

Matsukawa laughs, but there’s color rising to his cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Hanamaki says. He wonders if this is really happening. Could he be free as soon as tomorrow night?

“If we’re going to do this, I should probably get some sleep,” Matsukawa says apologetically.

“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Hanamaki allows the cave around them to fade, returning them to the blank white dreamscape he always arrives in first.

Matsukawa’s standing close in front of him, now, and he reaches up to touch the side of Hanamaki’s face with his fingertips. Hanamaki leans into the touch instinctively. Matsukawa’s gotten more outwardly affectionate since he found out about the experiments. Hanamaki hopes it’s not just pity, but he can’t help but crave every touch anyway.

“Will you be okay until then?” Matsukawa asks seriously.

“A-okay, boss!” Hanamaki says, giving Matsukawa two thumbs up, not serious because he’s afraid his heart will explode otherwise.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes with a laugh, but he presses a kiss to Hanamaki’s forehead before gently pushing him out of his mind. Hanamaki reaches up to touch the spot, though there’s no trace of the kiss on his physical form. What a shame.

He wants to know what Matsukawa’s lips feel like.

Like a kid trying to sleep before Christmas, Hanamaki’s wound so tightly each hour seems to pass in centuries. Time can’t move quickly enough, as he waits for night to come. It’s strange. He’s never been actually _excited_ for the sun to set. It usually comes with a cold sense of dread growing large and heavy in the pit of his stomach. Now, though, knowing that Matsukawa will be there to try and put an end to things for good, he can barely stand the daylight.

The only reprieve comes during his sparring session with Akira. It’s always fun to see how Akira’s grown and learned from past mistakes. Hanamaki watches that small furrow in his brow as he concentrates with a fond grin and does his best to keep Akira on his toes, taunting and teasing him to try and get him to break his cool and act recklessly. He never falls for it, of course. His movements are careful and calculated. A bit too predictable at times, but on the rare occasions where he can catch Hanamaki off-guard and land a good hit (whether with his fists, feet, or magic), Hanamaki feels a burst of pride.

“That’s my boy!” he exclaims after one particularly good punch, grabbing Akira around the neck and pulling him in for a noogie, despite the dark purple blood dripping down the front of his shirt from his nose.

Akira makes a disgruntled noise and wiggles out of his grasp, but as he straightens and brushes his fingers through his hair to smooth it out, Hanamaki catches a glimpse of a tiny smile.

Matsukawa hands him a handkerchief, and Hanamaki notices the blood, then. He takes it with a bright thanks, cleaning himself up before stuffing the hankie into his pants pocket and lowering his stance for another attack.

Akira’s mood shifts once dinner comes along. Hanamaki catches him glancing towards the door a few times and nudges his mind gently.

_“What’s up?”_

_“Nothing. Get out of my head.”_

_“You keep looking at the door all forlorn-like. You expecting someone?”_

_“I . . . invited Kindaichi over for dinner. He’s not responding to my messages again. I don’t know why, but I told him I needed to talk to him and asked him to come.”_

_“You think he found out about the arranged marriage thing?”_

Hanamaki watches as Akira frowns slightly.

“Don’t look so gloomy at the table, dear. It’s bringing down the ambiance,” Akira’s mother says airily.

Akira smooths out his expression. “Sorry, Mother,” he says dully, returning to his food.

In the kitchen where Hanamaki’s perched on the island counter, watching them all through the open doorway, he rolls his eyes. Matsukawa sits across from Akira, having stayed late enough during tutoring that Akira’s mother felt obligated to invite him to dinner. Hanamaki watches how he eats, wishing he were those chopsticks every time he lifts them to his lips. He sighs wistfully, before turning back to his own food.

Matsukawa wishes the family a good night when all is said and done, and though Hanamaki knows he’ll return soon, he feels his chest clench slightly, as he watches him leave. Sighing, he goes about cleaning up the kitchen, scrubbing out and rinsing the pots and pans he used to make dinner, before drying everything and putting them away. He wipes down the counters, then, knowing he’s stalling but taking the time to make sure everything sparkles.

Then, he turns toward the stairs and makes his way down into the basement.

With the chance at freedom so close, it makes the door of his cage feel especially heavy, as he pulls it shut behind him and activates the lock. The magic barrier shimmers over the bars, sealing him in, and he crosses his legs in the center of the cage and waits.

It doesn’t take long for Eiji to make his way down the stairs, only this time he’s not alone. Hanamaki watches, eyes widening, as Akira trails along behind, looking around at the room with a faint frown.

“Why are you—” He stops abruptly, catching sight of Hanamaki in the cage. He stares, his eyes widening, even as his father continues toward the counter, setting his laptop on top of it and opening it. As it boots up, the man turns toward his son.

“As you’ll be taking your trial soon, I figured it was time for you to learn about my work down here. The contract will be passing to you once you’ve obtained your witch’s license, and if you’re going to pursue your ambition to become a scientist, I thought I’d show you how much you can learn from a single specimen.”

He gestures toward Hanamaki, and Akira steps forward slowly, eyes roving the room, the vials on the counter, the refrigerator, the microscope, the box of syringes. Comprehension dawns on him, and Hanamaki watches, as his hands slowly curl into fists.

_“No. Kid. Don’t.”_

His command falls on deaf ears, as Akira turns toward Eiji.

“All this time . . . you’ve been keeping him locked down here, running _experiments_ on him?”

Eiji frowns. “I do not like your tone,” he states flatly. “My work entails the research of different diseases and poisons and what antidotes and cures we can glean from magic and other sources. Studying a demon’s rapid cellular regeneration was the perfect place to start, and his contract forbids him to take action against me or his own body. If you’re to follow in my footsteps, I suggest—”

“I’ve never said I want to follow your footsteps!” Akira exclaims, a rare burst of emotion from him, as red spots of anger appear on his pale cheeks. “You’re cruel! A-a sadistic _torturer_!”

Eiji’s hand moves faster than Hanamaki can cry out a warning, backhanding Akira across the face so hard the boy stumbles.

“Akira!” Hanamaki shouts, flinging himself forward against the bars of his cage, gripping them tightly despite the burn of the magic that singes his palms. He tugs on them, but it’s no use. He’s trapped, only able to watch helplessly, as Akira lifts his hand to cradle his reddened cheek. The dark eyes that peer out from behind his hair burn with hatred.

“Do _not_ speak to your father with such disrespect!” Eiji snaps. He pulls himself up to his full height, straightening his lab coat and running a hand through his hair, as he gathers his composure. His calm mask slips back into place. “Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps you are still too young to understand the importance of the work I’m doing here.” He glances down at Hanamaki in his cage. “Perhaps I was foolish to allow this thing to look after you for so many years. You’ve come to see it as a member of the family, when it is simply a creature from a Hell dimension that would kill you and eat your entrails if it wasn’t under contract.”

Hanamaki growls under his breath. “Fuck you, you sanctimonious piece of shit.”

“Go to your room, Akira. We’re done here,” Eiji says, turning his back on his son.

He steps over toward the laptop, pulling up a note and typing something, before grabbing a syringe and opening the fridge to retrieve something. Akira’s eyes follow him before landing on the laptop.

_Oh, no._

_“Don’t even think about it!”_

Again, Akira ignores him. Leaping forward, he grabs the laptop, slamming it shut before bolting for the stairs.

“Akira!” Eiji shouts, turning to reach for him.

Hanamaki flings himself into Eiji’s mind before he can think better of it. Immediately, pain bursts through his skull, a consequence for breaking the contract, but he pushes through, tearing at Eiji’s mind as best he can, searching for a hold before the pain grows too much to bear. Eiji freezes in place, grimacing as he clutches at his head. He turns, eyes flashing with anger, as he levels his glare on Hanamaki.

“You!” he spits, taking a step toward the cage before stopping and looking once more toward the stairs.

Hanamaki can’t hold on any longer. He releases Eiji, the pain slowly subsiding but making him dizzy. He shakes his head to clear it, spots appearing before his eyes. He blinks a couple times, and when his vision returns to normal, he notices Eiji’s no longer in the basement.

Hopefully he gave Akira enough time to get away.

He can’t get out of this cage himself, and he’s not sure how fast Eiji can run or if he’ll call for backup. There’s only one person he can reach, now.

_“Mattsun! Are you still around back?”_

_“Yes? Has Kunimi-san finished already?”_

_“He brought Akira down. The kid grabbed the laptop and ran off. Eiji’s gone after him. I don’t know where they’re headed, but I’m trapped in this cage. I need you to come get me out!”_

_“Shit, okay, okay. I’ll be right there!”_

Hanamaki waits, vibrating in place. Where would Akira take the laptop? To Kindaichi? No, he wouldn’t put his friend in danger like that. He must be going to one of the headquarters of the other covens, to show them the laptop as evidence of a demon contract, but which one? The House of the White Swan? The House of the Eastern Star? The White Swan is the stricter of the two and may come down harsher on the White Rose for this breach of conduct . . . but the House of the Eastern Star is larger with more money and more power. The latter makes the most sense, probably. The other covens will listen to the Eastern Star without question.

Matsukawa bursts into the basement, breathing hard. He rushes forward, dropping to his knees in front of the cage.

“How does this work?” he asks, picking up the lock.

“It’s got an enchantment on it,” Hanamaki explains quickly. “As soon as I’m inside and activate it, it covers the bars with magic that burns me if I touch them.” He holds up his healing palms as evidence.

Matsukawa grimaces. “Okay, I’ll try a simple dispel magic and see if that does anything.” He waves his hand over the lock and mutters something under his breath.

Hanamaki watches the bars, waiting for the faint golden light around them to fade. Nothing happens. He grits his teeth. They don’t have this much time to waste!

“Try breaking it!”

“What?” Matsukawa glances up at him in surprise.

“Smash it!”

Dubious, Matsukawa wraps his hand around the lock and gathers his magic around his hand, strengthening it. He gives it a hard yank and a squeeze, and the metal crunches, sparks flying. The glow around the bars shimmer and then fade.

“Huh,” Matsukawa stares down at the crumpled lock in surprise. “It worked.”

“Not everything is spells and whistles. Sometimes you just need brute strength,” Hanamaki says, pushing the door open. He hops out, not wasting time to stand and run but flapping his wings to rise in the air and head for the stairs.

“Wait!” Matsukawa rushes after him. “You’re going to go out there like that?”

Hanamaki glances down at himself, hovering as he takes in the fact that he’s basically naked aside from the fundoshi covering his genitals.

“It’s cold out, and you can’t . . . people shouldn’t see you in your demon form. They’ll send Hunters after you.”

Hanamaki knows he’s right, but it takes everything in him to lower to the ground and find some clothes to pull on. He retracts his tail, wings, horns, and claws, feeling uncomfortably cramped in pure human skin, but he shoves boots on his feet and grabs Matsukawa’s hand.

“Let’s go!” he pulls the other up the stairs and out of the house, heading for downtown Tokyo, as a light rain begins to fall.

* * *

Kunimi’s breath comes in white puffs of air, as he books it down the sidewalk. He hugs the laptop close to his chest, not having stopped to put it in any sort of bag. He didn’t even stop to put on street shoes, and his house slippers threaten to fall off with nearly every footfall. He’s not dressed much better, in a pair of lounge pants and a sweater, and as drops of rain register on his face and hands, he shivers, stuffing the laptop up under his sweater to keep it from getting wet.

He hasn’t looked behind him since he fled from the house, but he knows his father will follow. His life’s work is on this laptop, incriminating evidence of his illegal contract and subsequent misdeeds. Kunimi doubts the Coven Council of the House of the Eastern Star will care much about the experiments, but the contract . . . that’s the smoking gun.

Gritting his teeth, he ducks his head against the rain and continues forward, sprinting as fast as he can while keeping a firm grip on the laptop pressed against his chest. He remembers how Hanamaki looked in that cage, how smug his father looked as he spoke of using him to further his research. Kunimi doesn’t want to think of what kinds of things his father has done to Hanamaki over the years.

_Why didn’t you tell me, you stupid demon?!_

He knows there’s no use getting upset about it. Hanamaki surely had his reasons. But his chest aches at the thought of Hanamaki down there alone and in pain. He should’ve known. He should’ve put a stop to it sooner. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have said no to helping Kindaichi.

Hanamaki’s more important than the wrath of his father.

Kunimi’s face still stings. He wasn’t expecting his father to hit him, as he never has in the past, but that only made it easier to rebel. It reduced the man to what he truly is: a bully. Not someone to feared or revered, but someone to be despised. Kunimi can’t believe he’s been so stupid for so long.

_Kindaichi’s right. This whole coven reeks of people like him. Good riddance to them all._

The train station appears ahead. He presses forward, grateful for the sparring sessions with Hanamaki that have built up his endurance. He skids to a stop just long enough to dig into his pocket to find his wallet and swipe his pass before bolting through the turnstile. He takes only a moment to make sure the train at the station is the correct one before sprinting towards it.

He collapses in a seat near the back, ignoring any strange looks he might get. He hunches forward, trying to catch his breath. He knows his father will probably figure out where he’s going. He doesn’t have much time. Reaching into his pocket once more, he pulls out his phone. It’s somewhat damp, and he rubs it dry as best he can with the inside of his sweater. Thankfully his case and screen protector are waterproof. He quickly finds Kindaichi’s number and hits the call icon.

_Pick up. Pick up, **please** Yuutarou._ He flexes his fingers slowly, trying to stop their trembling.

“Hey.” Kindaichi’s voice is dull, tired, but Kunimi feels such relief at the sound of it, he doesn’t pay much attention.

“Kindaichi! I need your help. Meet me at the House of the Eastern Star headquarters. I have the evidence you need to prove at least one of the council members has a demon contract.”

“What?” Kindaichi sounds more alert now. “How?”

“I stole my father’s laptop.”

“You _what_?!”

“Please, I know you’re mad at me, and I can guess at the reason and we can talk about it, but please . . . meet me there. I need someone else from the White Rose to vouch for me.”

“I don’t even have my license yet . . .”

“Then bring Iwaizumi-san, too. Bring Matsukawa-san.”

The line is silent for a moment, and Kunimi holds his breath, waiting. He realizes something and speaks again before Kindaichi can answer.

“I didn’t say it back.”

“What?” Kindaichi sounds startled.

“Before, when you . . . when you said you loved me. I didn’t say it back. I do. I-I love you.”

There’s another pause. “Are you just saying that so I’ll help you?”

Kunimi grimaces. “No. My timing is shit, I know, but I just . . . I needed you to know. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you the past three days if you’d just answer your damn phone.”

“I’ll be there,” is all Kindaichi says.

“I’m counting on you, Yuutarou,” Kunimi adds softly before he can hang up.

There’s a pause before the click. Kunimi sighs, pressing the phone against his forehead. Stupid. He should’ve told Kindaichi about the arranged marriage before kissing him and getting his hopes up. He still plans on getting out of it somehow, or at least coming to an arrangement where he can keep Kindaichi despite the marriage.

His father might be in jail soon, though, so maybe the marriage _will_ go away on its own.

One can only hope.

He lifts his head, as the train pulls into the station across from the Eastern Star headquarters. He stands, making his way over to the doors. His legs shake from the stress he’s put them through today, but he centers his magic on them, bolstering their strength. He needs them to work just a little longer.

The small, blond receptionist just inside the doors of the Eastern Star headquarters looks as though she’s getting ready to leave. Most of the lights are out already, and Kunimi can hear the squeaking of a janitor’s cart somewhere down the hallway beyond the desk.

He pulls the laptop out from under his sweater to place it on the desk. “I need to see the head of the coven council.”

The receptionist squeaks in surprise, clasping her hand over her heart, as she looks at him with wide eyes. “Wh-where did you come from? It’s after hours!”

“It’s an emergency,” he insists. “Is your coven leader still here?”

“Emergency?” Her eyes, impossibly, grow larger. “Is there a fire? A-a demon?” She gasps. “Is it the zombie apocalypse?!”

Kunimi frowns. “What? No.” He shakes his head quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s about some gross misconduct taking place over at the House of the White Rose. It’s time-sensitive, so I really need to see your coven leader.”

The receptionist tilts her head, studying him. “Um. Well, he’s working late tonight but I was told not to let anyone up . . .”

“What floor is his office?”

“Um, the top floor, but you’re not really supposed—”

“Thanks.”

Kunimi grabs the laptop and makes his way to the elevator, ignoring the receptionist’s soft wail of “wait!!” He punches the elevator button for the top floor, trying to ignore his elevated heartrate. He knows there’s little chance the man will take him at his word alone, and the evidence on the laptop is really only enough to incriminate his father, not the entire council of the White Rose. But, still. Maybe it’s enough to launch an official investigation. If the White Rose doesn’t rid themselves of all their demons in time, maybe this could be the start of their official disbanding.

He grips the laptop with both hands, inspecting it for any water damage. The air conditioning in this building has him shivering almost uncontrollably now, and he stifles a sneeze in his sleeve. He’s definitely going to have a cold tomorrow.

When he reaches the top floor, he catches sight of an older gentleman locking up his office, a briefcase in hand. He hurries forward.

“Sir! Sir, are you the leader of the House of the Eastern Star’s Coven Council?” he asks, remembering belatedly to bow in greeting.

“Ah, yes, I am . . . are you all right, young man? You’re soaked to the bone.”

Kunimi’s startled by the concern in the man’s voice. He straightens, not entirely sure what to say to that, so surging on ahead. “My name is Kunimi Akira. I’m from the House of the White Rose. My father’s a member of the council there, and he holds a contract with a demon. Multiple members of our council hold such contracts, but I only have evidence of his. Please, look at this laptop. It’ll confirm everything. He’s been running experiments on our—on his demon. It’s all here, sir.” He holds out the laptop.

The council leader nods slowly, not seeming very surprised or at least very good at masking it. He turns and unlocks his office door, opening it and stepping back inside.

“Please, follow me.”

Kunimi hesitates before stepping into the room behind him. The name plaque on the desk says “Nekomata,” and the man gestures to one of the two chairs in front of said desk.

“Sit, Kunimi-kun. I’ll make you some tea.”

“Sir, it’s really important that you look at the laptop. I . . . I stole it from my father, and he’ll no doubt be here with the authorities to collect it. We can’t waste any time.”

“You’re going to catch a cold if you don’t warm yourself up. Put the laptop on my desk.”

Kunimi leans forward to place the laptop on the desk in front of him.

“How long has your father held this contract?” Nekomata’s tone hasn’t changed. It remains friendly, steady, even as Kunimi’s heart races.

“As long as I’ve been alive. My grandfather first made it, and the contract moved to my father when he got his license. It’s supposed to go to me when I get mine, but I don’t want it. Hanamaki . . . the-the demon . . . he doesn’t deserve what’s being done to him. I want to set him free, but first I have to present proof of what’s going on.”

“Interesting. You say he doesn’t deserve it. In our profession, we hunt down and kill or banish demons. We protect our species with magic to ensure none of them fall under the influence of demons or are hurt or killed by them.”

“Hanamaki-san isn’t like that,” Kunimi says, shaking his head. “He’s never hurt anyone.”

“Because of his contract.”

“No, because . . .” Kunimi hesitates, not sure if he’ll be incriminating himself as some sort of demon-sympathizer if he continues. He might be punished for it. It only takes a second for him to decide he doesn’t care. “Because he’s a good person.”

“A good person?” Nekomata repeats with a chuckle. “Young people these days . . . first we get a young witch claiming to be in love with a demon, and now here is one insisting a demon is a good person. Strange times we live in.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” Kunimi admits. “But making contracts with demons is illegal. It should be annulled, and Hanamaki-san set free.”

“Sirs! Sirs! You can’t go in there!” The receptionist’s desperate wail sounds from down the hall.

Seconds later, Kindaichi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki all burst into the office, stumbling over each other and out of breath. Behind them, the receptionist stands in the doorway, looking rather wilted.

“I tried to stop them, Nekomata-san, but they ran right past me!”

“That’s all right, Yachi-san,” Nekomata says with a wave of his hand. “I apologize for keeping you, but before you go home, can you please send a message to all of our council members and ask them to return to headquarters at eight tomorrow morning? We have an important matter to discuss.”

“Y-Yes, sir!” Yachi straightens and hurries back toward the elevators.

“You okay, kid?” Hanamaki asks, stepping over to Kunimi’s chair, bending to peer at his cheek.

Kunimi nods. He can barely feel the sting anymore, as the numbness from the cold has set in.

“Shit, you’re soaked,” Hanamaki chuckles, ruffling his wet hair. “What have I told you about wearing protection?”

Before Kunimi can respond, he feels a warm coat drop over his shoulders. He glances up at Kindaichi, but the other looks away, not meeting his gaze. Kunimi pulls the coat closer around him, sniffling softly. Nekomata hands him the cup of tea, which he takes.

“So, you’re the boss around here?” Hanamaki asks, straightening.

Nekomata looks amused. “Something like that.”

“Well, whatever Akira-kun’s told you, it’s the truth. I’m the proof of it.” He pulls up his sweater sleeve, displaying the tattoo marked clearly against his pale skin. “Property of Kunimi.”

“Ah, you must be Hanamaki-san,” Nekomata says, unfazed in the face of a demon.

“At your service,” Hanamaki says, before smirking and nudging Kunimi’s shoulder gently. “Well, technically at _his_ service.”

Matsukawa steps forward. “Sir, my name is Matsukawa Issei. I’m a member of the White Rose coven and Kunimi-kun’s tutor. I can confirm that there have been multiple demon contracts made by various members of our coven council, Ito Masaru included. We’d like there to be an official investigation.”

“I see.” Nekomata strokes his chin. “I don’t suppose you have proof of Ito-san’s involvement.”

“No, sir. Not at this time,” Matsukawa admits.

“I’ll need to discuss the matter with the coven council in the morning, as well as get the approval of the other councils in the prefecture. In the meantime, I suggest you all return to your homes and get some rest. If you’d like to be here during the meeting, you may, but you’ll be kept from the council chambers until such time as it’s relevant to include you.”

“That sounds reasonable, thank you,” Matsukawa says with another bow.

Kunimi hesitates, glancing up at Kindaichi. His friend still won’t look at him, but he hopes he’ll let him stay the night anyway. He _really_ doesn’t want to go home. He takes a sip of his tea, grateful for the warmth though the taste is bitter on his tongue.

“Hanamaki-san, I’m afraid we’ll have to keep you here,” Nekomata says, having the decency to look apologetic, at least.

Kunimi stiffens, and he doesn’t miss the way Hanamaki tenses, as well.

“Oh? Am I under arrest for something?” he asks lightly.

“Not under arrest, but we do not know what your contract entails or what you might do to hinder our investigation. There’s also the fact that you’re a demon who now knows the location of our headquarters. You pose an unfortunate threat to our security.”

“He’s not going to _do_ anything to you,” Kunimi says sharply.

Hanamaki waves off his ire. “Stand down, kid. I understand. They know nothing about me and therefore can’t control me. I’m an unpredictable piece in the game, which makes me dangerous regardless of what my intentions may be.”

Nekomata nods. Matsukawa steps forward, placing his hand on Hanamaki’s shoulder.

“Where will you put him?”

“For now, we can set you up with a cot in our break room. It’s not the most comfortable, but you’ll have access to food and water. We will be placing a seal on the door, as a precaution.”

“I’ll stay as well,” Matsukawa says, surprising everyone in the room.

“Ah, well, that’s up to you, of course,” Nekomata says.

Kunimi glances up between his two teachers, glad to see some progress has been made on _that_ front. He looks away from the blush rising on Hanamaki’s face to turn once more to Kindaichi. He’s still staring at the far wall. Kunimi sighs, downing the rest of his tea in a single gulp before standing, handing the cup and saucer back to Nekomata, before slipping his arms into the over-sized coat.

“Thanks for the tea. We’ll be back in the morning.”

Nekomata nods. “In the meantime, I’ll review whatever’s on the laptop.”

Kunimi bows slightly, before turning toward Hanamaki. He hesitates, unable to help but worry about him.

“Go on, kid. I’ll be okay,” Hanamaki says, giving him a grin.

Kunimi looks to Matsukawa. “Don’t let them hurt him,” he says.

“Nice vote of confidence!” Hanamaki sounds affronted.

“I won’t, you have my word,” Matsukawa says firmly.

Kunimi believes him. He steps toward the door, making his way out and for the elevator. He doesn’t have to look behind him to know Kindaichi has followed. The elevator ride down to the first floor is _extremely_ awkward. Kunimi sneezes a few times in quick succession, burying his nose in the sleeve of the coat.

Kindaichi says nothing. Kunimi wonders if he really won’t invite him over. He doesn’t really care, he’ll follow him home anyway, but the lack of invitation stings more than his thawing face does.

As the two of them pass by Yachi, she gives them both a nervous smile and a half-wave, like she’s not sure if she should be waving.

“Um, have a good night?”

“You too,” Kindaichi calls back politely.

Kunimi stops abruptly when he steps through the doors and sees someone waiting for them in the front courtyard. Kindaichi stumbles into him, before stepping to the side, fumbling with his umbrella before noticing the figure as well.

“Akira,” Kunimi’s father says in a low voice, his face a shadow beneath his own umbrella. “What have you done?”

“What I should have a long time ago,” Kunimi says flatly.

Kindaichi manages to get his umbrella open, stepping closer to Kunimi to cover them both. He frowns over at Kunimi’s father.

“It’s too late,” he calls across the few feet that separate them. “They’ve got the laptop _and_ the demon. You’re not getting away with this!”

Kunimi’s father remains silent for a moment. “We’ll see,” he states, before turning and walking away.

Kunimi watches him go, an uneasy feeling twisting in his chest. He starts, when he feels Kindaichi’s arm fall heavily across his shoulders.

“Come on,” he says with a weary sigh. “Let’s go home.”

Kunimi’s face feels warm. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m mad, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go with him.”

Kunimi stifles a smile, leaning into Kindaichi just slightly. “Thanks.”

Kindaichi mumbles something under his breath, embarrassed. He leads Kunimi forward, then, back toward the station.

“Kindaichi?”

“Yeah?” comes the reply after a brief hesitation.

“I’m not going to marry Hana-san.”

Kindaichi frowns. “Can you do that? Or, I guess . . . _not_ do that?”

Kunimi shrugs. “I’ve decided it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to do it. They can’t force me to, short of putting a spell on me, but I’ve gotten pretty good at my mental blocks thanks to Hanamaki-san’s lack of boundaries. I’m sure I can keep them out of my head.”

Kindaichi entire demeanor changes. His posture relaxes, his expression opening to one of hope, as he glances down at Kunimi. “So . . . you’ll be my boyfriend?”

Kunimi balks at using such a sentimental word that’s loaded with expectations, but he nods, regardless. If the title makes Kindaichi happy, then he’ll use it. He has to admit, he gets a warm, almost fuzzy feeling in his chest as he turns the words over his mind. _Kindaichi’s boyfriend. Yuutarou’s boyfriend._

“Sure.” Realizing how unenthusiastic that sounds, he slips out from underneath Kindaichi’s arm, moving to take his hand instead. “Yes.”

Kindaichi beams, lacing their fingers together.

There’s still some trepidation for what tomorrow will bring, but for now, Kunimi allows that unfamiliar sensation of happiness to settle into him.

Maybe one day soon it won’t be so unfamiliar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> always use protection, kids! even if your sorta-kinda-not-quite-sure boyfriend is a Hell creature from another dimension
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	5. Out of the Frying Pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more smut at the start of this chapter~ to skip it, stop at "How about you" and CTRL/Command + F to "he observes mildly."

The break room of the Eastern Star headquarters is more of a lounge than a lunchroom. There’s a small kitchenette in the corner with a few cabinets, a fridge, a microwave, a coffee maker, and a hot plate, and a single table with four chairs. In the main section of the room, there are two wing-backed chairs facing a couch on either side of a coffee table, and a TV is mounted on the wall off to the side. Beneath the TV is a bookshelf that houses both books and DVDs.

Nekomata personally moves the coffee table out of the way with Matsukawa’s help, setting up a cot with a blanket and a pillow where it used to be. Hanamaki bows in thanks, and when the man leaves, he sees the barrier of magic that shimmers around the door, locking him inside.

Well, at least he’s not alone. Matsukawa slips out of his shoes, running a hand through his damp hair before flopping down onto one of the couches, stretching his long body across the length of it. Hanamaki kicks off his own shoes before sitting on the cot beside him, bouncing slightly to test it. It’s solid like a rock. The couch looks more comfortable.

“You think we can both fit on that?” he asks, wondering if Matsukawa will let them get that close.

To his surprise, Matsukawa shifts to the side, offering a sliver of cushion beside him. Grinning faintly, Hanamaki moves to lay down beside him. It takes some maneuvering, and it’s a tight fit, but he manages to get somewhat comfortable with his arm wrapped around Matsukawa’s waist, one leg nestled between his. He’s never been this close to, well, anyone. At least, not in real life. In his dreams and fantasies, sure. That one time he managed to catch Matsukawa off-guard in his mind and sat in his lap.

But Matsukawa doesn’t pull away, this time. Instead, he wraps his arm around Hanamaki, pulling him _closer_. Hanamaki curls his fingers into Matsukawa’s shirt, closing his eyes and relishing the feel of a warm body against his.

“You think the laptop will be enough to incriminate Kunimi-san?”

“It has to be. He recorded everything he’s ever done to me the past twenty years on that thing.”

Matsukawa’s arm tightens around him. “Twenty years . . . shit.”

Hanamaki tilts his head back to look up at Matsukawa’s face. He’s staring at the ceiling with a faint frown. Propping himself up on his elbow, Hanamaki moves his hand from Matsukawa’s side, touching his cheek lightly with his fingertips. Matsukawa’s gaze falls to him, and Hanamaki sees the way his throat constricts.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me tomorrow,” Hanamaki admits, feeling the growing dread like a stone in his stomach. He can’t think of any jokes, anything to lighten the mood. All he can think about is how he might very well be killed or banished by the council’s decree in less than twenty-four hours, and the only thing he wants to do in the time he has left is kiss the man beside him.

Matsukawa’s hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, stroking his thumb through the short, soft strands. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

Hanamaki grins faintly. “I know you’re just lying to make me feel better, but it’s sweet, so I’ll pretend like I believe you.”

Matsukawa looks back at him silently; his expression is difficult to read, and Hanamaki resists the urge to enter his mind. Instead, he decides “to hell with it,” and leans down to presses his lips against Matsukawa’s. They respond favorably, moving back against his without hesitation. It’s surprising, but it’s also what Hanamaki’s wanted for over a year now, and he curls his fingers into Matsukawa’s dark hair, gripping gently. He opens his mouth, deepening the kiss, and when he nudges Matsukawa with his tongue, the man lets him inside, moaning softly at the warm, wet touch.

Hanamaki trembles against him. He’s never kissed anyone before, has never been kissed, and this is so much of what he’s wanted for so long, it’s somewhat overwhelming. Matsukawa’s thumb continues to rub against the back of his head in a soothing manner. He’s not pulling away; he’s not avoiding this. He’s into it, and Hanamaki suppresses the laugh of relief that bubbles up inside of him. He can’t stop his smile, though, and Matsukawa’s lips twitch some in response.

“So, is this when you admit you _do_ have a demon fetish?” Hanamaki asks when he can’t hold back any longer.

“It’s not like I go around lusting after demons,” Matsukawa says, rolling his eyes. “It’s just _you_.”

Hanamaki feels his face warm. “Ha! You _do_ like me,” he says to mask just how deeply that affects him. “I knew it. I knew you couldn’t resist this hot piece of—wh-what are you doing?”

Matsukawa has shifted, pressing him back against the couch as he looms over him. Hanamaki’s words die in his throat at the sight of Matsukawa’s eyes, pupils blown wide, a flush of pink across his nose and cheeks.

“How about you stop talking for once?” he murmurs, his hand moving between them, thumbing open the button on Hanamaki’s jeans. He drags the zipper down before slipping his hand inside and into his fundoshi, and Hanamaki swallows hard, inhaling sharply at the feel of his warm palm wrapping around him. “Huh.” Matsukawa glances down curiously.

“Uh, what?” Hanamaki asks, his voice reed thin.

Matsukawa lifts his head, smirking. “Your dick’s pretty normal.”

“Were you expecting something _abnormal_?” Hanamaki asks, feeling light-headed, as all his blood has rushed south. It doesn’t take long for him to grow hard in Matsukawa’s hand, as it begins stroking him slowly.

Matsukawa shrugs. “Well, you _are_ a demon. I didn’t know if it was going to have scales or a barb or some shit.”

Hanamaki’s laugh catches in his throat. “Would that have deterred you?”

“I would’ve made it work.”

Hanamaki bites his lip with a slight grimace, as Matsukawa gives his dick a particularly good twist and pull. He decides he really likes this side of Matsukawa. “Shit,” he gasps softly. “You gonna show me how exactly?”

“I’m getting there.” Matsukawa grins faintly, leaning down to kiss Hanamaki’s cheek, his lips moving then to the side of his jaw and down his neck.

Hanamaki can feel his heart pounding relentlessly against his ribcage, heat spreading through his body as Matsukawa continues working his hand on him. The pleasure tingles down his thighs, and his toes curl some in their brightly colored socks. Matsukawa leans back, pushing Hanamaki’s sweater up in order to kiss and lick down his chest.

“Fuck, fuck,” Hanamaki pants softly, covering his face with his arms. His body quivers, as he feels Matsukawa’s lips move lower and lower. He really wasn’t expecting this when Matsukawa said he’d stay with him, but he’s definitely not regretting this turn of events. He’s more surprised that it’s _Matsukawa_ who is lavishing all this attention on him. In his fantasies, he’s always the one giving, since the man seemed so averse to touching him in the past.

_Guess that was all just a front,_ he realizes, with a shaky inhale, as Matsukawa’s tongue licks up one side of his shaft and then down the other before swirling around his tip. He bites down hard on his lower lip, as Matsukawa’s mouth covers him, taking him in slowly. The wet heat encases him, and he has to consciously keep his hips from bucking up into the sensation.

“Mattsun, _Mattsun_,” he gasps, reaching down with one hand to curl his fingers into the back of Matsukawa’s dark hair.

The man murmurs around him, bobbing his head slowly to increase the friction. Hanamaki chokes back a sob of pleasure. It feels so _good_, so much better than his own hand or even how he imagined it might feel. He wonders briefly if he’s dreaming, if this is just another fantasy come to life in the stress of the moment.

But his fantasies never feel this real, this _amazing_, and he focuses on the touch, on the heat, on the tingles that feel like electricity running through his veins. Matsukawa takes him into his throat and moans around him, and Hanamaki jerks in response, trying not to react too violently, but unable to hold back.

“Fuck!” he cries out, tightening his grip on Matsukawa’s hair.

He feels Matsukawa chuckle, but he can’t feel too indignant about it, because he needs _more_. The pleasure grows sharper with each suck and drag of Matsukawa’s lips, and he trembles, knowing he won’t be able to hold back much longer.

“I-I’m—I’m gonna come,” he warns the man, expecting him to pull away.

He does, but only to his tip. He wraps his hand around Hanamaki’s base, twisting gently, as he mouth works faster, sucking hard around his head, muffling a groan. Hanamaki yelps, as the pleasure pulses through him, and he comes into Matsukawa’s mouth shortly after. Moaning softly at the release of tension, he relaxes into the couch cushions, panting for breath. Matsukawa lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Tastes like mint, kinda. The evergreen kind,” he observes mildly.

Hanamaki blinks up at him. “You swallowed it? You have no idea what’s in demon spunk!” He thinks of all the experiments Eiji has run on him; all the poisons injected into him. Sure, his body fights off the effects, but he has no idea what might be lying dormant.

Matsukawa waves off his concern. “Pretty sure I’ll be okay,” he says, tucking Hanamaki back in his jeans and patting him gently, making him twitch. “If not, there’s plenty of magic stuff that’ll take care of it.”

“And here I thought I was the reckless one,” Hanamaki mutters, still flushed from the experience. He glances down at the front of Matsukawa’s pants, realizing that his slacks are undone. “Did you . . .”

“Ah, yeah, don’t worry about it,” Matsukawa says, standing and crossing over to the counter by the fridge where a stack of napkins sits, grabbing a couple to wipe off his hand. He moves to the small sink, then, rinsing out his mouth.

“I would’ve returned the favor. I _want_ to return it,” Hanamaki says, feeling a twinge of guilt.

“Right now you need to rest,” Matsukawa says, flopping down beside him on the couch, which really means he’s half on top of Hanamaki, considering the narrow space. He nuzzles his face into Hanamaki’s neck, wrapping his arm around him. “You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah . . .” Hanamaki reaches up to hold the arm lying across him, swallowing hard. He doesn’t know what to say. He really never expected any of this. “Still. You’ll let suck your dick later, right?”

Matsukawa chuckles against him. “I promise you can suck my dick later.”

“Is yours abnormal?” Hanamaki asks, smirking faintly. “I feel like I should know since you assumed mine would be.”

“Shut up and go to sleep, ‘Hiro.”

Hanamaki falls silent at the nickname. “Are we doing that now?” he asks quietly, again getting that nagging feeling that he might be dreaming. “Can I call you Issei?”

“Sure, though ‘Mattsun’s’ pretty cute,” Matsukawa admits around a yawn.

Hanamaki digs his blunt human fingernails into Matsukawa’s arm. At Matsukawa’s pained grunt, he relaxes. “Sorry. I just needed to make sure this was real.”

“Aren’t you supposed to pinch your _own_ arm?” Matsukawa grumbles.

“You’re laying on it.”

Matsukawa lifts up just enough to look down at Hanamaki. He moves his hand up to his face, brushing his thumb against his cheek. “I promise this is real,” he says with so much tenderness, Hanamaki feels the need to make a joke, but none come to mind.

He nods dumbly in response. Matsukawa drops his head back down into Hanamaki’s neck. “Today was exhausting. Sleep now.”

Hanamaki continues to stare at the ceiling, even after he feels Matsukawa relax against him in sleep. Despite the warmth and sense of security coming from the human, Hanamaki can’t help but feel like this is the calm before the storm; the sliver of golden light before everything is covered in shadow.

The hearing is held in a large circular room able to sit three hundred people, at least. The House of the Eastern Star council members sit behind a long table at the base of the circle, while the council members of the House of the White Swan and the House of the Black Crow take up the two adjoining tables. Hanamaki wonders if that’ll be it, before the door opens once more and men and women file in wearing robes with the symbol of the White Rose.

Nekomata explained to him beforehand that they would need to include the White Rose in the proceedings, since they can’t pass judgement on one of their council members without their input. Still, Hanamaki can’t help but glower at them all from his place inside the golden bubble of magic Nekomata placed around him after he was led to the center of the room.

Beside him is a smaller table, at which sits Kunimi Eiji and a tall man Hanamaki doesn’t recognize. He looks like a lawyer, with his briefcase and glasses, and he’s speaking to Eiji quietly, as others begin to gather into the room.

It’s nearing noon. The Coven Council of the Eastern Star met at eight this morning to discuss the contents of the laptop and arrange this hearing. It’s been the longest morning of Hanamaki’s life. Matsukawa stayed with him in the break room until they were allowed to enter this chamber, and now he sits beside Kindaichi and Akira, the latter of which wears a black mask over the lower half of his face. What skin is visible looks pale, and his eyes are rimmed red with heavy circles beneath them. Hanamaki gives him a concerned look, unable to use his telepathy while in the bubble. Akira leans against Kindaichi beside him, giving Hanamaki a small “ok” sign with his hand. That doesn’t alleviate Hanamaki’s worries, at all. The kid is notorious for downplaying any serious weaknesses.

More than a few people eye Hanamaki within the bubble, no doubt wondering who he is and how much of a threat he poses. He wiggles his fingers at them in a wave.

“If I could have order, please,” Nekomata says, once everyone has gathered and been seated. Once everything quiets, he continues. “Now, I’ve asked you all to gather here today because we have found evidence that Kunimi Eiji, member of the coven council of the House of the White Rose, holds a contract with a demon. This demon.” He gestures to Hanamaki in the bubble. “Hanamaki-san, if you’d please show us your true form.”

Hanamaki sighs but supposes it was inevitable. He lets his wings and tail unfurl through the holes provided in his clothing, his horns and claws extending as well. He hears the collective gasp that circles the room; you’d think they’d never seen a demon before.

“We are here to determine what punishment should be bestowed upon Kunimi-san and if there should be an official investigation into the House of the White Rose. We have reason to believe Kunimi-san is not the first or the only member of the coven council to hold a contract with a demon. As you are all aware, making contracts with demons is illegal within Japan’s Coven Laws.”

“Nekomata-san, I’m afraid I must object.” The man sitting beside Eiji stands.

Nekomata raises an eyebrow. “And who are you?”

“My name is Hanazawa Jiro, and I am representing Kunimi-san today. While you are correct that he holds a contract with this demon, he did not, in fact, make the contract. You say you have evidence, which I believe you obtained through illegal means, but putting that aside for now, you should have seen in the evidence that it was Kunimi-san’s _father_, Kunimi Rui, that made the contract and therefore broke Japan’s Coven Laws. My client did not and therefore is innocent of these charges.”

A murmur travels throughout the room, and Hanamaki feels his heart sink into his stomach. He didn’t even think of it in that way. Could Eiji really get away with this? He meets Matsukawa’s gaze from across the room. The man frowns, arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, Akira sits straight up in his seat, dark eyes blazing over his mask in pure fury. Hanamaki can’t blame him. He feels the same.

Nekomata turns from his colleagues to address Hanazawa. “While you may be correct about the origins of the contract, what does your client have to say to the fact that the evidence we have points to torture and unsanctioned experimentation?”

Hanazawa lifts his hands to the side with a small smile. “There are no laws against the torture and experimentation of demons, Nekomata-san. Do we not kill and banish them as a part of our duty to the country? What difference does it make if one is tortured? Kunimi-san conducted these experiments to further research into creating cures and antidotes that your own coven members could benefit from. Has he not done all of us a favor by doing so?”

Nekomata strokes his chin slowly. “You attest that demons have no rights and therefore can be treated however we like.”

Hanazawa nods. “They are not citizens of Japan. They are not human. They do not even come from this dimension. Unless you are proposing we create an amendment to Japan’s Coven Laws for demon rights, they have no protection under the law, here.”

That sparks another round of whispers and grumbles. Hanamaki knows there’s no way any of them will champion for demon rights. Most demons _are_ evil, after all. Hanamaki can’t argue with that. He’s never even met another demon that would preserve human life at all, let alone over their own. He feels his chances at getting out of this grow slimmer by the minute.

Nekomata holds up a hand and the whispering around him ceases. He turns to the table where the coven council of the White Rose sit, hands folded in their robes, silently watching everything with stone-faced expressions.

“Ito-san,” Nekomata addresses the man in the center of the table. “What do you have to say to all of this? Kunimi-san is a council member in your coven.”

Ito smiles thinly. “We had no idea Kunimi-san held any such contract with a demon. Had we known, of course we would have brought this matter to our fellow covens sooner.”

Eiji’s expression darkens, lips pursing. Hanazawa places a hand on his shoulder. “Again, while I’m not saying that he should have kept his father’s contract, he did not initiate it and is therefore innocent of the charges placed before him.”

Nekomata sighs. “I suppose that’s true. Our evidence does show that Kunimi Rui was the one to create the contract. Still, I find it suspicious he kept it a secret from all of us and continued to use the demon for his own benefit. Had he wished to use it maliciously, he could have caused great destruction.”

“But he didn’t,” Hanazawa says with a placating smile. “So, I move to have this whole matter dropped. Kunimi-san has agreed to give up the contract. In exchange, you have his word that he will not draw up another. We can get rid of the demon and put all of this unpleasantness behind us.”

Nekomata turns to his fellow council members, discussing the matter with them in hushed tones. Hanamaki feels his heart beating quickly, as a cold grip of fear curls around his chest. This is it. He’ll either be killed or banished. He turns his gaze onto Akira and Matsukawa once more, wondering if he’ll get the chance to say goodbye. Will Nekomata give him that much at least? Matsukawa stares back at him, lips turned down, his dark brows furrowed. Akira looks as though he wants to bolt from his seat (to do what, Hanamaki isn’t sure if the kid even knows). Kindaichi has his arm around his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“Unfortunately, it appears as though we cannot convict Kunimi-san of breaking Japan’s Coven Laws. However, we do believe there should be a punishment put in place for him keeping the demon and the contract a secret for so long.” Nekomata glances over at Ito, who nods in return.

“We will see to it that he is properly disciplined,” the White Rose leader says.

Nekomata steeples his fingers in front of him with a thoughtful look. “As to the demon . . . I will take it upon myself to annul the contract and dispose of him. This hearing is dismissed.”

Hanamaki watches, as those gathered stand and begin to file out of the room. Hanazawa speaks softly to Eiji for a moment before they bow to each other and the lawyer leaves. Eiji turns toward him, giving him a look of pure disgust from the other side of the bubble.

“Good riddance,” he says.

“Sorry you couldn’t finish your experiments. Hope they don’t spank you too hard,” Hanamaki says with a jaunty salute.

Eiji’s gaze shifts to the side, his expression darkening. Hanamaki glances over to find Akira standing next to the bubble, Kindaichi beside him with a steadying hand on the small of his back. Behind them both stands Matsukawa, hands in his pockets, watching silently.

“I don’t care what the council ruled. You’re just as guilty as Grandfather,” Akira says flatly, his voice only somewhat muffled behind his mask. “I hope you rot in hell.”

Eiji’s features tighten. “I grow tired of your disrespect. I am still your father.”

“No. You’re not,” Akira says, raising his voice, each word clear as day. “I’m rejecting you _and_ Mother. I’m not going to live at your house, and I’m _not_ going to take the Hinokoku trial. I don’t want any part of the White Rose coven.”

“You will regret siding with a _demon_ when they rise up to kill us all.”

Akira looks at Hanamaki. “This one won’t.”

Hanamaki feels his heart swell in his chest, and he wants nothing more than to grab Akira in the biggest hug ever. This magic bubble prison is seriously harshing the vibe. Eiji sniffs and turns to leave. The rest of the White Rose council follow him, and Hanamaki wonders if they’ll actually punish him or not.

Nekomata steps over to them once they’re the only five left in the room. He casts a spell with the wave of his hand, and the bubble around Hanamaki dissipates.

“Rest assured, we will be launching a full investigation into the White Rose council members. If what you say is true about them all holding such contracts, we cannot allow that imbalance of power. In the meantime, I’m sorry, but I do have annul your contract and send you back to your dimension.” Nekomata glances between the four of them. “I’ll give you a moment to say your goodbyes.”

He steps away from them, then, going over to the table where he sat before, pulling out his phone and tapping away on it. Hanamaki watches him for a moment, not ready to see the expression on the others’ faces, even Kindaichi. He feels Matsukawa’s hand on his shoulder, and he turns to find all three of them staring at him with wet eyes.

“Aw geez, guys. Don’t look so sad. You’re going to make _me_ cry,” Hanamaki says, forcing a grin despite the tears he feels stinging the corners of his eyes. The weight on his chest has only gotten heavier, and he struggles with his next inhale, even as he lifts his arms to the side. “I’m going home! They’re not killing me, which is honestly a huge relief. I wasn’t sure for a second there.”

Akira steps forward first, surprising him with a deep bow. “I—” his voice cracks, “I’ll find a way to bring you back. I promise.”

Hanamaki lays a hand on the back of Akira’s head, swallowing hard past the lump forming in his throat. “I believe in you, kid. But, you know, don’t forget to have fun, too. You’ve been waiting a long time for Turnip-head to come around, yeah? Don’t waste your time together worrying about me.” He sends Kindaichi a wink, and the kid blushes despite his tears.

Akira straightens slowly. “It’s not a waste,” he says, shaking his head. “Hanamaki-san, I-I—” He hesitates, struggling to put his feelings into words, as per usual.

Hanamaki takes his arm, pulling him forward into a firm hug. He feels Akira stiffen at first, before his arms come up around him, underneath his wings, to lock together behind his back. The kid buries his face in Hanamaki’s shoulder, and he can’t help but gently stroke his claws through that soft, fine hair. It’s always been fine, like silk through his fingers, ever since Akira was a baby. He remembers holding him for the first time, how awed he was at the tiny human’s delicate beauty, how fiercely he wanted to protect him from the monster Eiji became.

“I know, kid,” he says thickly. “I love you, too.”

He pulls away just enough to cup Akira’s face in his hands, looking down into his red-rimmed eyes. “You were the best part of my life here, you got that? Don’t ever think you don’t deserve happiness, because you do. You deserve the world. I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you, but you’ve got the strength to take it for yourself. You’re one of the strongest people I know, so don’t give up on your happiness, okay?”

Akira nods silently, the tears slipping down his cheeks with his next blink. Hanamaki brushes them away with his thumbs, before bending to press a lingering kiss against his forehead. He releases him reluctantly, watching as he sniffles and steps back to stand beside Kindaichi, who wraps his arm around his shoulders once more, pulling him close.

“You-you’re a really good guy, Hanamaki-san,” Kindaichi says with a nod. “Thanks for-for always taking such good care of Kunimi-kun.”

“It’s up to you now, Yuutarou-kun,” Hanamaki says, holding his fist out toward Kindaichi. “You treat him right, you hear? Or I _will_ come back and beat your ass.”

Kindaichi’s eyes widen, and he nods. “Yes, sir!”

Hanamaki nods and then, because he knows he can’t put it off any longer, he turns to Matsukawa. The man’s looking down at him with such tender affection, Hanamaki feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest right then and there. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to go back to that icy, unforgivable wasteland of a Hell dimension. He wants to stay here, where it’s warm even when it’s cold, and he can eat mochi and watch movies and wrestle with Akira and kiss Matsukawa and hold his hand and sleep in his bed forever and ever.

“It’s okay if you fall for someone else,” he says quickly. “Just so long as they’re not funnier than me. Or more attractive. And don’t go looking until I’m gone for at _least_ five years. You have to grieve and cut off all your hair and when people ask why you have to say it’s because you lost the love of your life and you’re never going to meet someone else like him, as you beat your chest and rip off your shirt.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do any of those things,” Matsukawa says, shaking his head as his lips twitch. He places his hand against Hanamaki’s face, and Hanamaki leans into the touch, reaching up to lay his hand over his, as he closes his eyes and inhales slowly. He feels Matsukawa’s breath against his ear, as he leans in to whisper softly, “The kid is going to bring you back, and when he does, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget you ever left.”

Hanamaki’s laugh turns into a sob half-way, and he buries his face in Matsukawa’s neck, reaching up with his free hand to curl his fingers into his shirt. “Promise?” he chokes out.

“Promise.” Matsukawa rubs his back slowly, what he can reach from beneath his wings. Hanamaki retracts them, so Matsukawa can hold him fully, which he does, gathering him in both of his arms with a sigh. “Sorry it took me so long to come around.”

“Yeah, we really wasted a lot of time, huh?”

“Never again.” Matsukawa turns his head to kiss the side of Hanamaki’s. “I’ll clear out a drawer for you.”

“I’m so fucking glad I met you.”

“Me too.” Matsukawa pulls away, shifting one hand to cradle Hanamaki’s face once more to kiss him deeply.

Hanamaki returns the kiss desperately, not wanting to let go even when Nekomata returns and clears his throat. The man has the decency to look apologetic, at least. He holds out his hand.

“Let me see your arm,” he says.

Hanamaki inhales slowly before exhaling. He steps away from Matsukawa and avoids looking over at Akira and Kindaichi, as he places his hand in Nekomata’s. The man pushes up the sleeve of his colorful sweater, revealing the “Property of Kunimi” brand. His hand begins to glow, as he covers the thick black characters with it, muttering a long, complicated incantation under his breath. Hanamaki stares down at the words, as they slowly begin to fade.

He looks up, then, giving a reassuring smile to Akira. “You’ll bring me back,” he says with a nod. Akira nods back. He looks to Kindaichi, who nods as well, his lips pursed tightly. Hanamaki gives him a wink, before turning his gaze onto Matsukawa, for what he knows will be the final time in a long time, as the air shimmers around him, and he feels the bite of cold air against his skin.

“Thank you for this past year,” he says, and closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he’s standing at the entrance of his cave, a sharp, icy wind blowing over him, as snow falls heavily from the overcast sky. He lifts his hand to catch the flakes, staring at the smooth, unmarked skin of his arm, as the tears freeze on his cheeks.

* * *

As soon as Hanamaki disappears, Kunimi wipes the tears from his eyes and shrugs Kindaichi’s arm off his shoulder. They’re not tears of sadness. No, he’s _angry_. His father gets away with treating Hanamaki like shit, while Hanamaki gets banished back to his Hell dimension? How is that fair? Kunimi feels the rage simmering beneath his skin, itching to get out. He’s light-headed from his cold, and his head feels heavy each time he turns it, but he has to do something. He’s spent too many years not doing _anything_. He needs to make this right, somehow.

“Kunimi-kun?” Kindaichi’s voice sounds far away, as Kunimi turns toward towards the doors of the chamber and makes his way toward them.

“Hey, kid!” Matsukawa calls after him, but Kunimi ignores him as well.

“Kunimi-kun, wait!” A hand at his elbow pulls him to a stop and turns him around to face the wet and worried face of his best friend. “Where are you going?”

“To Oikawa-san. Nekomata-san knows about the contracts. He accused the White Rose council members of having them. They’re going to get rid of the evidence as soon as possible, annul all their contracts, banish their demons. We have to get to them before they do, or they’ll never be held accountable for any of this.”

“But . . . how will Oikawa-san help?” Kindaichi asks hesitantly. “Shouldn’t we stay here and tell Nekomata-san?”

Kunimi shakes his head, his vision blurring as he does. He blinks to clear it, wishing he didn’t feel so over-heated. He tugs at his scarf, unfolding it from his neck. “Nekomata-san has to abide by Japan’s Coven Laws. He can’t go breaking into people’s houses without a warrant. But Oikawa-san will. I know he will.”

Kindaichi’s eyes grow wide. “You want us to . . . _break_ into people’s _houses_?”

Kunimi huffs, his mask fluttering some around his mouth. “How else are we going to find their contracts?” He turns to Matsukawa. “You’re with me on this, right?”

Matsukawa nods. “I’m with you.”

Kindaichi runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, I guess if it’s our only option . . .”

“Great. Let’s go.” Kunimi turns toward the door.

“But, Kunimi-kun! You have a cold! You should be resting,” Kindaichi follows him, reaching for his hand this time.

Kunimi allows him to take it but continues forward undeterred. “I can rest later. We’re wasting time.”

He can still feel Hanamaki’s lips, cool against his forehead. His chest aches, and not just because he’s wheezing with each quick step. For as long as he can remember, Hanamaki’s been a constant in his life. He’s watched over him through everything, every milestone, every failure, every painful day of puberty. Sometimes Kunimi hated that. He hated how Hanamaki invaded his privacy, how he jumped into his mind whenever he wanted, how he constantly teased him over things he _knew_ embarrassed Kunimi.

But it also brought a sense of security. He knew he could lean on Hanamaki, go to him for anything, rely on him, trust him. He held Kunimi’s hands as he took his first steps, making sure he didn’t fall flat on his face. He taught him how to ride a bike, how to whistle, even how to have safe sex, as humiliating as that lesson was (he still sees the diagrams in his nightmares).

Hanamaki was more of a father figure to Kunimi than his own father was, and Kunimi will never forgive the man for what he did. Not only did he hurt the first person Kunimi ever loved, he also brought about his banishment.

Kunimi has no idea if he’ll be able to get Hanamaki back. He promised it, but he knows summoning a specific demon takes a skill set far above his own. He doesn’t even know Hanamaki’s true name, and that’s the most important thing to have when summoning a demon. Otherwise any old demon can waltz in the dimension gate you open.

It’ll take time and a lot of research. Maybe Grandfather Rui knows Hanamaki’s true name.

Kunimi shakes his head to clear it. He has to focus on one thing at a time. Right now, he needs to make sure the House of the White Rose doesn’t get away with what they’ve done.

As they sit on the train, Kindaichi fidgets beside him. “Do you think there should be an amendment in Japan’s Coven Laws about demon rights?” he asks curiously, glancing between Kunimi and Kindaichi. “I mean, it’d be good for demons like Hanamaki-san but . . . most of them aren’t like Hanamaki-san . . . are they?”

“It’s a tricky question,” Matsukawa sighs. “Aside from Makki, I’ve only ever known evil demons. We’d run the risk of a lot of bad people summoning demons and letting them loose if we decide all demons are worthy of due process. I think we’d have better luck convincing everyone that Hanamaki is human. If we can prove Hanamaki has a conscience, a sense of right and wrong and that he chooses to do right while not being bound by any contract, maybe he could be given the designation of human with the rights that come with it.”

“Hanamaki-san always seemed human to me,” Kindaichi admits. “I’d forget all the time that he was a demon.”

Kunimi grits his teeth. The point isn’t that Hanamaki can pass as human, it’s that he’s a demon who has feelings, wants, and desires that don’t include hurting anyone. Maybe that’s rare, but it’s a rarity that should be allowed to exist where it wants.

“I’ll get him back,” he murmurs, as though reassuring himself.

Kindaichi’s hand worms its way into his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. Kunimi looks down at them, his chest aching again.

“I’ll help,” Kindaichi says quietly. “Whatever you need me to do.”

“Me too,” Matsukawa adds.

Kunimi nods silently. He brings Kindaichi’s hand to his chest, holding it against his heart briefly before lowering it between them.

The train arrives at the station closest to Oikawa’s house, and they make their way there quickly, Kunimi’s chest tightening with each inhale of the cold, wet air. Kindaichi glances at him worriedly, keeping a firm grip on his hand. Kunimi shakes his head, brushing off his concern.

“Well! This is surprising,” Oikawa states as he opens the door. He points at Kindaichi. “I know Shallot-kun, and you must be the boy so madly in love with him you begged Iwa-chan to take his place in your little revolution.” He points at Kunimi, causing Kindaichi to sputter some in embarrassment. Kunimi simply blinks back at him.

“Kunimi Akira,” he says flatly.

“Pleasure. I don’t know you,” Oikawa says, turning his pointing finger onto Matsukawa.

“Matsukawa Issei. You must be the infamous Oikawa Tooru.” Matsukawa bows slightly. “I sorta feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.”

Oikawa grins. “As well you should! I’m one of the best Demon Hunters in Tokyo, after all!”

“No, it’s not that for that . . .”

Oikawa’s grin doesn’t falter, though his eyes narrow. Kunimi steps forward.

“We need to talk to you. The White Rose knows the other covens are onto their contracts. We just came from a hearing where Nekomata-san had my father on trial for holding a demon contract. He was acquitted because he didn’t make the contract himself, but Ito Masaru isn’t going to keep the other demons around now that one of his own has been compromised. We need to get to the other council members’ houses as soon as possible to locate their contracts before they can destroy them.”

Oikawa blinks rapidly at this sudden influx of information. “I see.” He steps back and opens the door wider. “I’ll put on some tea and we’ll talk strategy.”

Kunimi breathes a soft sigh of relief, glad Oikawa seems to understand the urgency of the matter. As the three of them step inside, Kindaichi holds Kunimi back, dark eyes full of concern.

“You should stay here, while we go get the evidence.”

Kunimi frowns. “No, I told you, I’m not—”

“You’re _sick_, Kunimi-kun. And no offense, but you’re only going to get worse if you keep going like this and then you’ll slow us down.”

Kunimi clenches his jaw, knowing Kindaichi’s right but not wanting to admit it. He flinches, as Kindaichi lightly places his free hand against Kunimi’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he says, shaking his head. “I promised Hanamaki-san that I’d take care of you, so you’re staying.”

“That’s _not_ what he told you to do,” Kunimi mutters, eyes fixed on their shoes. He can feel a lump forming in his throat. If he stays here and does nothing but lay around while Kindaichi and the others go about saving the day, doesn’t that mean he failed? That he’s reverted to his old, lazy self who did nothing to change anything? He doesn’t want to be useless anymore. He finally has something to fight for, something he _wants_ to fight for.

“Kunimi-kun,” Kindaichi says softly, tilting his head to try and catch Kunimi’s gaze. Behind him, Matsukawa has taken a seat on the couch, and Oikawa’s in the kitchen, making tea. There’s the muffled sound of a TV coming from a room beyond the living are, though Kunimi can’t make out what’s playing. “Akira.”

Kunimi lifts his eyes to meet Kindaichi’s, surprised by the sound of his given name. Then his chest aches, because that’s what Hanamaki calls him. Called him.

“It’s okay for you to rest. You’ve done a lot,” Kindaichi says, brushing his thumb against Kunimi’s cheekbone above his mask. “More than anyone ever expected, really. I’m really proud of you.”

Kunimi feels his face grow even _hotter_ but decides to blame that on the fever. He sighs softly, looking away. “Promise me you’re not going to be an idiot and charge into anything without Oikawa-san and Matsukawa-san.”

“I promise,” Kindaichi says with a faint grin.

“And if council members bring out their demons, you should stay behind Oikawa-san and Matsukawa-san and let them take the brunt of it.”

“I know how to fight demons, Kunimi-kun,” Kindaichi says, rolling his eyes.

Kunimi tightens his grip on Kindaichi’s hand. “I’m serious. Don’t put yourself in danger if it isn’t absolutely necessary.”

Kindaichi smiles at him warmly. “Okay, okay.” Bending, he presses a kiss against Kunimi’s mouth through the mask. “You’re cute when you worry.”

Kunimi kicks his leg gently. “You owe me for this.”

“If you two lovebirds are done flirting~” Oikawa calls, as he sets the tea tray on the table in front of the couch. “Let’s get our strategy session going!”

Kindaichi pulls Kunimi over to sit, and he finds himself sipping tea and dozing off against Kindaichi’s shoulder, as he, Oikawa, and Matsukawa begin formulating a plan for exposing the White Rose demon contracts.

He must have fallen asleep completely at some point, because the next thing he knows, he’s being gently laid out on the couch, a pillow beneath his head, a blanket over him, and an herbal compress against his forehead.

Kindaichi brushes his hair back from his face gently. “We’re going now,” he says softly. “Stay here, okay? I promise I’ll be back.”

Kunimi reaches for him, sudden anxiety twisting in his stomach at the thought of Kindaichi leaving his sight. Kindaichi grabs his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“I’ll be back,” he says again. “Don’t worry.”

Kunimi swallows hard, his throat burning with the movement. He doesn’t want to let Kindaichi go, but he slips through his fingers and moves out of reach.

“Yuutarou,” he croaks, not wanting a repeat of earlier. He has to say it. He’ll regret it if he doesn’t and something terrible happens.

Immediately, Kindaichi’s at his side once more. “I have to go,” he says, even as he crouches beside him.

Kunimi grabs a handful of his sweater, pulling him close enough to murmur against his ear, “I love you.”

Kindaichi’s face turns tomato red. He coughs and nods. “I love you too,” he says, kissing Kunimi’s cheek briefly before standing and moving away, leaving Kunimi grasping at air.

He hears the front door open and close, but the muffled sound of the TV in the other room doesn’t cease. Someone else must be in the house, still, and Kunimi wonders blearily how they’ll react to seeing a strange sick teenager on their couch. Before he can think too much about it, though, he passes out completely.

* * *

Kyoutani stays the night. When Yahaba wakes to find the Hound snoring softly on the futon beside his bed, he’s honestly surprised. He half-expected the guy to sneak out at some point to avoid the impending awkwardness. Grimacing, Yahaba makes his way around him carefully, heading to the bathroom to shower. He takes his time with it, scrubbing his skin until it stings and trying to forget the way Kyoutani’s hands and mouth felt on him.

_I fucked up_, he thinks dismally, as he stares at the condensation dripping down the bathroom tiles. The unfortunate consequences of everything that happened are crystal clear in the sober, early morning. He doesn’t want to face them, but they’re staring directly at him, callous and unmoving.

He can’t hide in the bathroom forever, so he eventually turns off the water, dries off, and gets dressed for the day. His ass aches uncomfortably, but he does his best to ignore it, walking as normally as possible back to his bedroom.

He stops short when he sees the futon sitting rolled up against the wall, the sheet and blanket folded and placed on his bed, the pillow on top. Yahaba blinks, wondering if Kyoutani really left without a word after all. A knife of regret pricks his chest, but he brushes away the sensation as best he can, as he packs up his gym bag to take with him to work, knowing he’ll still have to do training with Kyoutani later.

He makes his way down the stairs to enter the kitchen, coming to an abrupt stop once more when he sees Kyoutani sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. Yahaba’s father is reading the newspaper at his usual spot, drinking a cup of tea, and his mother is by the stove, stirring eggs.

“What are you doing?” Yahaba asks before he can stop himself.

Kyoutani looks up at him, his brows coming together slowly. “Breakfast,” he says, pointing his chopsticks toward his plate.

“Shigeru! You didn’t tell me you had a friend staying over.” Yahaba’s mother gives him a pointed smile.

“It wasn’t exactly planned . . .” Yahaba says, staring at Kyoutani and wondering how the Hound can sit there so calmly, like he didn’t fuck Yahaba upstairs not five hours ago, right beside his parents’ room. Do his parents even know what he is? Who do they think he is to Yahaba if he spent the night?

“Shigeru, come get your breakfast before it gets cold.” His mother holds a plate out toward him.

He moves forward mechanically, feeling like someone else is in control of his limbs as he takes the plate from her, grabs some chopsticks, and moves to sit down. Kyoutani’s sitting in his usual seat, so even that feels unnatural. Seeing the kitchen from a different perspective throws him off, and he shifts in his seat uneasily, wincing as the movement stings.

“Are you okay?” His mother has sat down with her own plate, now, and is watching him much too closely.

“Fine. Thanks for the food,” Yahaba says quickly, turning his gaze to his plate to begin eating. He can’t help but steal glances over at Kyoutani as he does, but the other doesn’t look his way once. Instead, he keeps peering at the newspaper in Yahaba’s father’s hands, lips moving slightly as he tries to read it. Yahaba does _not_ find that at all endearing, and he turns his gaze back to his plate.

“So, we met Kyoutani-kun briefly that night you came home drunk,” his mother says lightly. “But he didn’t stay long. It’ll be nice to get to know him better.”

“Mom, I told you I wasn’t drunk,” Yahaba says quickly. “I was tapped out of energy.”

“Yes, well, it was still sweet of Kyoutani-kun to make sure you made it back safely. You’re not from around here, are you?” Her gaze is sharp, as her dark eyes regard Kyoutani curiously.

Kyoutani shakes his head. “From other—”

“Side of the world!” Yahaba exclaims. “American! Japanese-American. He’s still learning the language, but he wanted to immerse himself in the culture, you know. Find out more about his heritage and all.”

Kyoutani shoots him a frown, but his mother seems to buy it, because her smile relaxes.

“Oh, how nice! Do you like what you’ve seen of Japan so far?”

Kyoutani looks back at her with a nod. “Good food,” he says, pointing toward the eggs and rice on his plate. “Good friends.”

“He and Watari get along really well. He’s the one teaching him Japanese,” Yahaba says, relieved Kyoutani’s going along with it.

Later, though, as they walk to work together, Kyoutani grunts softly.

“You lie,” he says, glancing sidelong at Yahaba.

“I told you, we can’t let anyone know you’re a Hell Hound,” Yahaba says, gripping the strap of his gym back as it sits across his chest. Walking to work with Kyoutani after the events of last night and then this morning feels weirdly . . . domestic. He desperately tries to not enjoy it. It won’t last. None of this will last.

“But . . . she is mother,” Kyoutani says, brows furrowed. “You still lie?”

“She’s my mom, and she’s great. They both are. But even people who are good might treat you badly because of what you are,” Yahaba says, trying to explain in a way Kyoutani will understand. “They could report you to the Coven Council, and they’d be forced to send you back to Hinokoku.”

Kyoutani nods slowly. “Like Yahaba treat me, before.”

Yahaba grimaces. “Um. Yeah. I’m not going to treat you like that anymore, though.”

“Because we fuck?”

Yahaba chokes on his spit and it takes a moment for him to recover. “No, no, not . . . because I was wrong, before. It was wrong of me to treat you like that. That’s why I’m going to stop.” He pauses, reaching out to touch Kyoutani’s arm, stopping them both on the sidewalk. “But, um, about that . . . you can’t tell anyone we fucked, okay? Not Watari or Oikawa-san and _especially_ not my parents.”

Kyoutani frowns. “Why?”

Yahaba doesn’t know how to answer that. He turns to face forward, walking once more at a rapid pace. With his shorter legs, Kyoutani has to take two steps for every one of Yahaba’s to keep up, which he does with an annoyed grunt.

“Why?” he presses again.

“Because!” Yahaba tosses his hands in the air. “We really shouldn’t have done it. We’re coworkers, sparring partners—”

“Friends,” Kyoutani agrees with a nod.

“No, not . . . I mean, yes, I guess, but it’s not . . . it’s more complicated than that!” It can’t be healthy for Yahaba’s heart to beat this fast.

“Why?” Kyoutani asks persistently.

Yahaba grits his teeth, gripping the strap of his bag so tightly he can feel the edges of it dig into his palms. “Because I’m human and you’re a Hell Hound, which makes it . . . weird. And complicated. And once I get my license I’m going to be a Demon Hunter, and I’ll be traveling the country on missions, and I’ll probably never see you again.”

Kyoutani falls silent beside him.

“What we did was stupid and irresponsible and . . . and it only happened because of pent up hormones and adrenaline from the fight with the imp. I was weak and I let my-my dick overpower my brain. It was wrong. I shouldn’t have—we shouldn’t have done it.” Yahaba’s babbling now, his heart crawling up into his throat, as anxiety makes its way into his chest. He’s breathing too hard for the pace he’s walking, but he can’t seem to catch a full breath.

Kyoutani says nothing. Yahaba can’t bring himself to look over and see what expression he’s making.

“So, we’re not going to tell anyone. In fact, it’s probably best if we just pretend like it didn’t even happen,” he says with finality.

“Okay,” Kyoutani says, his voice low and dark with an emotion Yahaba doesn’t take the time to try and identify. He sounds almost . . . angry. But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he be angry? Yahaba’s being practical about this. They _have_ to be practical about it. Otherwise everything he’s working toward will blow up in his face.

When they get to the Healthy Vine, there are already a couple patients waiting by the front desk. Yahaba’s glad for the distraction, hurriedly making his way over to tuck his gym bag beneath the desk, sitting to start up the computer and check them in. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Kyoutani stalking toward the back, rudely brushing by Watari without saying anything, which makes Watari shoot Yahaba a curious look. Yahaba ignores all of this, focusing on keeping his voice pleasant and his expression mild as he helps the patients.

This time, it’s Kyoutani who avoids him. He doesn’t come out from the apothecary side of the building, and when Yahaba goes to retrieve some prescriptions, he rather obviously turns to leave in the opposite direction whenever they happen to see each other.

Well, that’s fine. Yahaba expected some awkwardness following all that. He didn’t expect Kyoutani’s anger, though, or for it to bother him so much. Why doesn’t the Hound understand that this is for the best? Their paths are going to diverge soon, so what good would it do for them to be together now? Yeah, the sex was good and hot and Yahaba can’t say he doesn’t want to do it again, but his feelings are starting to get . . . complicated. And the guy is a _creature_ from a _Hell_ dimension, for fuck’s sake. Surely, he can see that would raise further complications.

Watari comes to him an hour past noon, as Yahaba considers what to do for lunch. Usually, he, Kyoutani, and Watari go to Yuda’s or eat bentos Watari’s mom leaves for them in the break room. He’s pretty sure Kyoutani doesn’t want to eat lunch with him today, though.

“Okay, spill,” Watari says, leaning against the desk.

“What?” Yahaba does his best to keep his features neutral.

“Don’t give me your customer service face,” Watari says, shaking his head. “What’s going on with you and Kyoutani-kun? I thought things were better after your fight yesterday.”

“They were, I just . . . I’m just tired,” Yahaba says, not sure how much to tell him. Watari is his best friend, and he encouraged his attraction to Kyoutani, but will he understand Yahaba’s decision on the matter? “There was an imp outside my house last night. I didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

Watari’s eyebrows raise. “An imp? What was an imp doing outside your house?”

Yahaba shrugs. “Beats me. There’s been an increase of demon and imp activity lately, though. You’ve noticed, right?”

Watari looks thoughtful. “We do seem to be getting more injuries than normal,” he says slowly. “What do you think it means?”

Yahaba shakes his head. “I have no idea. One of my textbooks mentioned that sometimes if the walls between dimensions grow thin for some reason, it’s easier for demons and imps to travel into different worlds. I mean, it’d be easier for us to go into their worlds too, but I don’t know why anyone would want to.”

Watari tilts his head. “What can cause the walls between dimensions to thin?”

Yahaba squints up at the ceiling, trying to remember what the book said on the subject. “There are spells, I think, but they’d have to be pretty powerful and concentrated on a single spot. There’s also something called a . . . a tether. Theoretically, half-demons can make them. Since they’re from two different dimensions, they can create gateways and let things through. Only between the two dimensions their parents are from, though, and there hasn’t been a recorded half-demon sighting in at least fifty years.”

“So, which do you think it is? Someone using a really powerful spell? Or a half-demon trying to open gateways?”

Yahaba lowers his gaze with a blink. Before he can think of an answer to that, the door bursts open and Oikawa Tooru strides in.

“Ah good! You’re both here! Is Kyouken-chan here as well?”

“He’s in the back,” Watari says, straightening. “How can we help you, Oikawa-san?”

“I need you both to come with me. Well, I need Kyouken-chan, too.” He glances toward the back, cupping one hand around his mouth. “Kyouken-chan! Iwa-chan needs help!”

Yahaba bites the inside of his cheek, as Kyoutani suddenly materializes from behind a shelf in the apothecary. How long had he been lurking there?

“Iwaizumi?” he asks, frowning.

“Yes, he needs your help, and I need you two, as well,” Oikawa gestures to Watari and Yahaba. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste!”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Yahaba asks, even as he steps around the desk. “We can just leave work in the middle of the day.”

Oikawa clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Yahaba-kun, what did I tell you before? Demons don’t make appointments!”

“Demons? You need us to help you fight demons again?” Yahaba asks.

“I’ll explain everything on the way,” Oikawa says, already walking toward the door.

Kyoutani follows without a word, leaving Yahaba and Watari staring after them. They exchange a look, and Yahaba can see his own conflicted thoughts reflected in Watari’s eyes. Then he sighs and turns away. “I’ll grab some potions,” he says with resignation.

Not five minutes later, they’re walking briskly beside Oikawa toward the train station. Watari’s backpack rattles with the sound of vials clanking together, and Kyoutani’s wearing his scowl of concentration. Yahaba can feel his hands shaking, and he slips them into his jacket pockets. Oikawa’s gaze remains fixed ahead, as he explains the situation.

“Iwa-chan has been working undercover at the House of the White Rose. We’ve been looking for a way to take them down, find evidence of greater misdeeds that will draw the attention of the other coven councils. We discovered that the White Rose council members have contracts with demons, for various reasons, but the fact is that it’s illegal. I don’t know if they know of Iwa-chan’s involvement yet, but Kunimi Eiji was brought before the covens this morning accused of making such a contract. He wasn’t charged with anything, but the White Rose now knows we’re onto them. We decided to try and find evidence of the contracts at the members’ homes, and I came here to ask for your help, but on the way Iwa-chan texted and told me that all of the contracts have been passed to Ito Masaru, the coven council leader. He has all of the council members’ demons barricading the White Rose headquarters. I think he’s trying to get rid of evidence and using the demons to stop anyone who tries to stop him. So, we have to fight the demons off and get to him before he can."

Yahaba’s brain reels with all this new information. He had no idea any of this was going on. Could all these contracts be the cause of the dimension walls thinning? All that demonic energy clustered in and around Tokyo . . .

“Iwaizumi is safe?” Kyoutani asks.

“For now,” Oikawa says, and Yahaba notes how pale his face looks. He’s limping, too.

“Oikawa-san, your knee . . .”

“Ah, right, Watari-kun.” Oikawa looks past Yahaba to the shorter witch beside him. “Do you have anything in your bag for stamina?”

Watari blinks, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. “I-I . . . do. But increasing your stamina isn’t going to fix your knee, Oikawa-san. When the potion wears off, you might be worse off . . .”

“Give it to me.” Oikawa extends his hand, still walking at a hurried pace.

“Watari, don’t,” Yahaba says, pushing Oikawa’s hand down. “Oikawa-san, Kyoutani and I can take care of the demons. You really shouldn’t be fighting on your knee right now. It’s already worse because you didn’t properly take care of it before.”

Oikawa laughs, a harsh, discordant sound. “So! My kouhai thinks he is better than his senpai now, does he? Thinks he can tell me what to do?” He gives Yahaba a grin sharp as broken glass. “I won’t let you stop me from protecting Iwa-chan.”

“You won’t be able to protect him if you collapse once that potion wears off,” Yahaba says flatly, not about to be intimidated on this matter. “Kyoutani and I have been training every day but Sunday for almost a month, now. We can do this. The best thing for you to do will be to wait until we’ve cleared a path and then get inside to Iwaizumi-san. He’ll need back-up to stop Ito-san.”

Oikawa’s grin disappears. Watari glances between them worriedly, as Kyoutani glares ahead. They come to the turnstiles at the station and pause, each panting softly.

“Fine,” Oikawa says. “I’ll leave the demons to you.” He waves his pass over the turnstile, slipping through to the other side before turning to point at Yahaba and Kyoutani. “I’m putting my faith in you two.”

“We won’t let you down,” Yahaba says, his heart beating faster and not just because of the quick walk. He glances sidelong at Kyoutani, as Watari uses his pass to get them both through. The Hound’s jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed. As Yahaba follows them through the turnstiles and toward the train, he’s gripped by the sudden fear that Kyoutani won’t work together with him after their talk this morning. He’s still mad at him despite the logic of Yahaba’s reasoning. Will that cause him to abandon Yahaba in the midst of a fight? Will he go off on his own and leave Yahaba to fend for himself? He doesn’t doubt that Kyoutani will fight for Iwaizumi’s sake, but will he stand by Yahaba to do so? Or will he let his anger guide his actions, severing the partnership they’ve cultivated these past two months?

“Hey,” Yahaba says softly, as they stand on the train, gripping the rail above them.

Kyoutani stares straight ahead, not looking over at him. Watari managed to find a seat for Oikawa, and is crouched beside him, carefully inspecting his knee through his pant leg. Yahaba reaches out to tug gently on Kyoutani’s sleeve.

“What?” Kyoutani grunts.

“Are you with me?”

Kyoutani gives him a sideways look. Yahaba stares back at him, swallowing hard, as his heart once more attempts a journey through his throat.

“When we fight these demons . . . I need to know that you’re with me. That you’re not going to go off on your own. I need you fighting beside me. I know my strengths and weaknesses. There’s going to be multiple demons, and depending on what class they are, I won’t be able to take more than one or two on my own.”

Kyoutani gives him a look that clearly asks, “Are you stupid?” He rolls his eyes, huffing softly, as he faces forward once more. “I fight with Yahaba,” he says flatly.

He’s still angry, then. Well, that’s fine so long as he stands by his word. Yahaba knows Kyoutani well enough by now to know that he will.

“Good. Thanks,” Yahaba murmurs.

Kyoutani gives no indication that he’s heard, but Yahaba feels some of his anxiety ease.

It instantly flares up again, though, when they reach the House of the White Rose headquarters. Past the glass exterior of the first floor, he can see into the lobby. There are at least ten demons standing there, each wearing only fundoshi, their black wings unfurled, their tails twitching in the air, their sharp teeth bared. As the four of them approach, the ones in the front catch sight of them and lower into crouches, claws extended. They look to be Class 4 or Class 5 demons. Not the most powerful, but certainly not weak.

“I’ve already contacted a couple more people to help. Matsukawa and Kindaichi-kun. They’re both tall, one will be wearing a suit with dark thick eyebrows, the other is a kid with shallot-shaped hair,” Oikawa says, as he stares into the lobby.

Yahaba nods, glad for allies, at least. “Kyoutani and I will go in first. When you see a path open up, go on through. There will most likely be security guards on the way in, so you’ll still need to fight, probably, but don’t linger. Try to take care of them as quickly as you can without straining your knee, find Iwaizumi-san and help him get to Ito before he can destroy anything. Watari stay out here and call the Eastern Star headquarters. Tell them to send Nekomata-san and any other reinforcements over here as soon as possible. This is more than enough evidence to kick Ito-san out of office.” Yahaba rolls up his sleeves, pausing when he sees Oikawa watching him with a faint smirk. “What?”

Oikawa laughs, reaching over to ruffle Yahaba’s hair. “My little kouahi is growing up into such a good Hunting team leader,” he says fondly.

Yahaba feels his face warm. He clears his throat, glancing between him and Watari. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to hold off all of these demons, so please don’t take long.”

Watari salutes him with a grin. “Yes, Team Leader, sir!”

Stifling his embarrassment as best he can, he turns to Kyoutani. “We can’t kill all of them, because they’ll just return to their dimensions, and we won’t have any evidence against Ito-san. We’ll have to injure a couple of them just enough to take them out of commission, but not so much that they can heal easily and get away.”

Kyoutani nods. He faces forward, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his head from side to side. He crouches on the ground, then, taking off his sweater and growling low in his throat, as he begins to shift. It looks painful, the way his joints pop and his bones crack, but Yahaba doesn’t look away until Kyoutani stands there in his Hound form, stepping out of the clothes that slip off him easily. He’s still rather large, shoulders reaching Yahaba’s stomach, and in the light from the late afternoon sun, his scars glisten silver within the gold of his fur.

Ears folded back, he lowers onto his haunches, glancing up at Yahaba expectantly. Yahaba nods and turns toward the building.

Watari gathers up Kyoutani’s clothes, hugging them to his chest as he watches them both, wide-eyed.

“You got this,” he says with a nod.

Yahaba nods back, squaring his shoulders and drawing forth his magic, casting a spell to form a short sword in his hand, concentrating until the blade is dense and sharp.

“Now!” he shouts, and sprints toward the glass doors. Kyoutani leaps forward, loping beside him. With a shouted spell, Yahaba shatters the glass, and Kyoutani dashes inside, immediately attacking the demon closest to him.

Yahaba goes for the one next to it, and the building seems to shake with the echoes of the demons’ shrieks, as they all converge onto the two of them. Everything becomes a blur of black and red and gold. Yahaba feels his muscles tense, having to both concentrate on the magic holding the sword together, and the movement of bodies around him. He’s aware of Kyoutani close by, shifting and turning in tandem with him, staying at Yahaba’s back, so he can focus on the demons in front of him.

He can tell the difference between fighting Kyoutani and fighting these things right away. Kyoutani doesn’t hold back in the training room, but he never tries to kill Yahaba. These creatures _want_ to kill him. Their teeth and claws lash out at him, their wings beating the air, trying to knock him off-balance. A few of them have magic, and red lightning crackles around Yahaba, singeing his clothes with a few close calls and charging the air with the burnt smell of ozone.

There are tables and chairs set up in the lobby, and Yahaba uses them to his advantage, hopping behind them and kicking them toward his attackers whenever he can to trip them up. Kyoutani’s teeth and claws gnash and bite with impressive accuracy, and his mouth and paws grow black with demon blood. He’s sustained a few injuries himself, but they appear shallow. Yahaba tries not to worry about him, focusing instead on swinging his blade through demon wings and arms, firing off spells whenever he has an opening to push the demons back.

It’s easy to see how outnumbered they are. Sweat sticks Yahaba’s undershirt to his back, flattening his hair against his skull. Thankfully, his grip remains firm on the sword, though the magic of it wavers a couple times. He gets nicked across the face by a claw the first time it does, and nearly gets his hand bitten off the second time, leaping away just in time. Warm blood slips down his cheek, dripping onto his sweater, but he pushes past the sting as best he can.

“Yahaba-san!”

A shout nearly slaughters him. Yahaba drops to the floor before the demon’s wing can slice his throat, summersaulting backwards to hop to his feet in time to see the demon in front of him get knocked away by a blast of golden magic.

Matsukawa and Kindaichi have arrived.

Immediately, Yahaba can see the fight turning in their favor. With the four of them, they’re able to keep enough demons engaged that a pathway clears from the door to the elevators.

“OIKAWA-SAN! NOW!” he shouts as loud as he can.

He only sees Oikawa for a brief moment, running across the marble floor, dashing past the lobby, before his attention is diverted by a yelp from Kyoutani. Turning with a growl, he swings his sword down on the demon claw digging into Kyoutani’s back, lopping it clean off. The demon reels back with a cry of pain, and Kyoutani tackles it, his teeth ripping into its throat.

“Leave a couple for evidence!” Yahaba calls to Matsukawa and Kindaichi fighting beside him.

They both shout their acknowledgement, and Yahaba turns his attention back on the fight. His heart pounds rapidly, the surge of adrenaline in him feels _good_, and whenever he sees the large form of the Hound beside him, he finds his confidence bolstered. He grins, as he lands a particularly good hit on a demon, causing it to hop away with a hiss.

They're going to win.

* * *

Iwaizumi knew something was up the minute he heard Kunimi Eiji had been called in front of the coven councils for a hearing. He thought that would be it, the evidence they needed to bring down the coven. But then Kindaichi texts him the verdict, and his stomach sinks. Less than an hour later, Ito storms into the headquarters and demands to be left in his office uninterrupted. A few minutes later, Misaki at the front desk is calling coven members and patching them through to Ito.

Iwaizumi convinces Terushima that the door handles of the offices on the top floor need to be disinfected due to the changing weather giving many people colds, and he lingers near Ito’s office door long enough to hear him telling more than a few members to send their contracts and demons to him and wipe their personal devices clean of any trace of them. After sending a text to Oikawa, he turns to Terushima.

“Come here,” he says, realizing they’re about to get swarmed by both demons and whatever allies Oikawa will be able to rally together to fight them. He grabs Terushima’s sleeve to pull him down the hallway, out of sight of the cameras.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Terushima asks with a frown, shaking him off.

“Listen to me. This place is about to become ground zero for a hostile takeover,” Iwaizumi says. “Your boss is bringing demons here, probably so he can stop anyone from the Eastern Star from getting inside while he destroys evidence of their contracts. You need to get Misaki-san and get out of here before that happens.”

Terushima blinks at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Iwaizumi frowns. “I’m talking about saving you and Misaki-san a lot of grief, possibly even saving your magic. You don’t want to get caught up in this, trust me. If you fight against the Eastern Star on behalf of Ito, you’re going to be held and tried as accomplices. If you get out before then, I can tell them that neither of you had any idea that Ito and the other council members were making demon contracts. Even if they don’t believe me, you’ll have plausible deniability if you go _now_.”

Terushima narrows his eyes. “How do I know you’re not just trying to get rid of me so you can assassinate Ito-san or something?”

Iwaizumi gives him a look. “Not that I’m going to do that, but what do you care? You can’t possibly like the guy.”

“Not really, but he’s the one who pays me so . . .”

Iwaizumi tilts his head. “You weren’t bad back in training. You spent more time messing around than you should have, but you’re not weak. You know how to fight, and if you get serious about it, you’d probably make a decent Hunter. You have other options than just working here as a security guard.”

Terushima sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah . . . Hana’s always saying shit like that, too.”

“Listen to her. She’s got a good head on her shoulders,” Iwaizumi says firmly.

Terushima looks back at him skeptically. “This still feels like some sort of trap. Don’t you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you. I think you’re an asshole, but you don’t deserve to be punished for something you didn’t do.” Iwaizumi holds his hands out to the side. “If it makes you feel any better, you can keep the collar on me. I won’t be able to do anything to Ito with it on.”

Terushima surprises him with a grin. “Hey, if I’m going to rebel, I might as well go all out, right?” He steps forward, placing his hands on either side of the collar. Iwaizumi flinches on instinct at the contact, but Terushima just smirks at him. “Gotta admit, the collar suits you. Maybe I should take you with us instead. Get a little three-way going.”

“Pretty sure Hana wouldn’t be into that,” Iwaizumi says without inflection.

“You’re probably right about that,” Terushima laughs. He winks. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, though.” He casts a spell, then, that has the collar falling away in two parts into his hands. He pulls back holding the metal in both hands before dropping the pieces into the trash bag on Iwaizumi’s janitor cart. “There. Now you can’t say I owe you anything.”

Iwaizumi rubs his neck absently. He’s gotten so used to the weight of it, his shoulders feel lighter, and when he reaches for his magic experimentally, he immediately senses its warmth in the core of his aura. He straightens and gives Terushima a nod. “Thanks.”

Terushima waves him off. “If you can really take Ito down, it’d be a relief, honestly. That guy’s egg is totally cracked. Has been for a while now. He’s obsessed with getting more power for the coven. It doesn’t really surprise me that he’s resorted to summoning demons.” He steps toward the elevators. “So, you know, don’t die confronting him and whatever.”

“Your vote of confidence is incredibly reassuring,” Iwaizumi says.

Terushima grins, stepping into the elevator as the doors open. “See ya! Wouldn’t wanna be ya!” he calls with a cheeky wave.

Iwaizumi lets him go, hoping he and Misaki are able to get out before trouble starts.

When he returns to Ito’s office, it’s empty. The man hadn’t come to the elevators so where did he go? Iwaizumi glances over toward the stairwell near the back of the hall. The emergency fire exit. Why would Ito take the back way?

The answer becomes obvious a moment later.

The kid.

Iwaizumi takes off toward the stairs, skipping every other step, as he stumbles his way down as fast as he can. If Ito uses the kid against Oikawa and the others, there’s no way they’ll survive. The power Iwaizumi feels just standing across the dungeon from the kid is like nothing he’s ever felt before. He’s pretty sure no one has encountered _anything_ like that before.

“Dangerous,” the kid calls himself.

“A weapon,” everyone else calls him.

Is this the moment Ito’s been waiting for? Is the Eastern Star his target? Iwaizumi can’t imagine Ito would be so corrupt and power-hungry as to try and wipe out the other covens. But if not that, why the demon contracts? Why the secrecy? Why have a weapon in the first place? Terushima mentioned it was a precaution against Class 1 or Class 2 demons making it into this dimension, but surely he can’t know whether or not that’ll actually happen.

Then again, why go through all this trouble to make demon allies? Does Ito know something nobody else does? If so, why keep it a secret? To come out on top when disaster _does_ strike?

There are too many questions. Too many possibilities. Iwaizumi knows he’s not going to find any answers without confronting Ito himself.

The stairwell opens out into the cafeteria. As he expected, the door to the dungeon is open. Iwaizumi makes his way in, down the second flight of stairs. Already he can feel the kid’s agitation. It’s pressing into his chest, fluttering beside his rapidly beating heart. An anxiety that’s not his own.

“Yes, I know I told you that this was your last move, but something came up.”

Ito’s voice carries down the long corridor. Iwaizumi can’t hear the kid’s response. He makes his way carefully past the numerous cell doors, masking his footfalls with a muttered spell. It feels good to use his magic again, like embracing an old friend. He draws it forth to simmer beneath his skin, waiting to be used.

The kid’s cell door is open, and Ito stands just inside, his back to Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi can’t see around him, but as he draws nearer, he can see the corner of a bed, a stack of books sitting on the floor beside it, a volleyball half-hidden beneath it.

“No, I’m afraid the collar must stay. I can’t have you running off again. Do you know what people will do to you if they discover what you are? They’ll call you a monster. They’ll attack you, try to _kill_ you. People fear what they don’t understand. We’ve talked about this before. I put you in the collar, in this cell, to keep you _safe_.”

“Did you?” Iwaizumi asks with a frown, stepping up behind the man.

Ito starts in surprise, turning to the side to reveal the kid sitting on the edge of a single-sized cot, covered with a plain gray blanket and a white pillow. He’s dressed in simple clothes that don’t fit him well. Baggy jeans and an oversized sweater with sleeves so long they cover half his hands. His fingers are twisted together in his lap, and his dark blue eyes widen, as he notices Iwaizumi’s entrance. Around his neck is a slim metal collar, similar to the one Iwaizumi had worn, though there’s no chain.

“What are you doing here?” Ito snaps, his face red with anger. “Where is Terushima?”

“What are you doing with him?” Iwaizumi asks in return, gesturing toward the kid. “You say you’ve done all this to keep him safe, but you’re just covering your own ass, aren’t you? You know if people found out about him, they’d punish you for summoning him in the first place.”

Ito barks out a laugh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, _boy_. None of this concerns you. I suggest you leave before I have a mind to punish you for treason, _again_.”

Iwaizumi stands his ground. “You’re the one treating the kid like a monster. Keeping him locked up in here, suppressing his magic, calling him a _weapon_.” He turns toward the kid. “Do you even know why you’re here?”

The kid starts, not having expected to be addressed. He glances between the two of them quickly. “I’m dangerous . . .”

“Are you? Have you ever even hurt anyone before?” Iwaizumi asks, watching him closely.

The kid frowns slowly. “No . . .”

“Do you like being locked up? Do you like wearing a collar and being treated like a criminal when you’ve done nothing wrong? What is this man to you?” He gestures to Ito.

The kid follows his hand with his gaze. “He’s . . . my father.”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows. “_Is_ he?” He glances between the two, thinking they look nothing alike.

“Of course, I am,” Ito says quickly. “He knows I do all this because I care about him.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “Okay, say he is your father,” he says, turning back to the kid. “Does he bring you food when I’m not here? Has he read any of those books to you?” He gestures to the stack. “Does he let you play volleyball, _real_ volleyball?” He points to the ball. “Does he let you have friends? Does he tell you he loves you? Does he hug you? Tell you he’s proud of you?”

“Stop talking!” Ito shouts, lifting his hand and shouting a spell that hits Iwaizumi in the chest, sending him flying across the room.

He hits the wall with a _smack_ that sends pain shooting down his spine. He manages to keep his head from hitting anything, at least, even as he crumples to the ground. The kid jumps to his feet, stepping toward Iwaizumi, before Ito grabs his arm, yanking him to a stop. The balding man is breathing hard, sweat beading his forehead.

“Leave him. We have to go.”

The kid continues to stare at Iwaizumi. “Are you okay?” he asks, frowning still.

Iwaizumi sits up with a grimace, grabbing the wall for support, as he pushes against it to stand. His legs tremble, as pain pulses through his back. He nods, winded. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay,” he says breathlessly. He inhales sharply, glancing between the kid and Ito. “You don’t have to do everything he says, you know. You have a choice.”

The kid’s frown deepens, and he looks somewhat constipated. “I don’t . . . want to hurt anyone.”

“I don’t think you will,” Iwaizumi admits, taking a staggering step forward. “You still have some magic even with that collar, and you’ve never hurt me to try and get out of here when I bring you food. Ito wants to use you, use your power. That’s why he doesn’t want to let you go. He’s afraid you’ll realize how much better it is outside. He doesn’t want you to know how terrible he’s been to you.”

“You better shut your mouth, boy, before I shut it for you,” Ito hisses, shoving the kid to the side and stepping forward menacingly, lifting his hand toward Iwaizumi once more.

“Stop!” the kid yells, grabbing at Ito.

The man shakes off his hand. With a muttered spell, he tosses the kid back onto the bed. “Stay out of the way. We’ll go just as soon as I take care of this traitor.” He grabs Iwaizumi’s neck, shoving him back against the wall, as he starts to squeeze.

“You think you know who’s good and who’s evil?” Ito says, glaring at him.

Iwaizumi digs his fingers into Ito’s hand and arm, trying to wrench it away. The pain sparks through his neck and head, and he can’t breathe. Ito’s stronger than he looks. He can’t—

“Those witches you align yourself with are weak with dirty blood. They won’t be able to stand against the coming storm. Only those with pure magic, with real power, will be able to fight back. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for the good of my people, my _country_. I won’t let you, a traitor, with no sense of pride or loyalty, keep me from saving the world!”

Iwaizumi starts to see spots. He tries to call up his magic, but without oxygen he can’t form the words to cast a spell. The room spins. He can barely comprehend Ito’s rant. His vision fades, darkness closing in.

“STOP!”

There’s a blast of energy so hot it feels cold. Or maybe it’s so cold that it feels hot. Iwaizumi can’t tell. The next thing he knows he’s falling, and the hard ground is unforgiving as it meets him, bruising his ribs. His throat burns, as he coughs, each inhale a painful draw of air that stings as it hits his aching chest. Blinking, he shakes his head to clear his vision. He’s lying on his side. Ito’s slumped against the wall on the other side of the room. From here, Iwaizumi can’t tell if he’s dead or just unconscious.

Pieces of metal lie scattered across the stone floor. Iwaizumi blinks at them, uncomprehending. What just happened? He sees a pair of clean sneakers, laces perfectly tied, hears the rustle of oversized fabric, as the kid crouches in front of him. Without a word, he reaches out, pressing two fingers against Iwaizumi’s forehead.

Brilliant white light fills Iwaizumi’s vision. He closes his eyes against the glare, and he can see the red veins of his eyelids. Warmth fills him from his head down, spreading out across his body, to every limb, every finger and toe, until he’s encased in it like a blanket. It chases the pain away from his throat, his chest, his back, and he’s filled with renewed energy like a battery charged to full. The red veins disappear, everything fading to black, and when Iwaizumi opens his eyes, the kid is gone.

Sitting up slowly, he reaches for his forehead where it still feels warm, rubbing the spot the kid touched. His fingers move across smooth skin, and for a moment he thinks nothing of it.

Realization hits him like a bucket of ice water dumped over him. He grabs his phone from his pocket, turning on the front facing camera to peer at his face, pushing back a couple strands of sweaty hair that have fallen in front of his forehead.

His scar, the word “Traitor” etched into his skin by the man lying across from him, has vanished.

He pushes his sleeve up, taking a deep breath before looking down. The scar that coiled around his forearm, a souvenir from his Hinokoku trial, is also gone.

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

This should be impossible. The “Traitor” brand had been enchanted to prevent healing with magic, and no witch, no matter how powerful, can remove scars. That’s the whole point of the punishment. And the Hinokoku scar . . . the burn was too deep for Oikawa to heal completely with the strength of his magic at the time. Afterwards, Iwaizumi went to many different clinics trying to rid himself of it, only to be faced with disappointment each time.

Magic can’t remove scars; that’s a proven fact.

Yet here Iwaizumi sits, without them.

He lifts his head to blink at the empty space of the open doorway, but there’s no sign of the kid.

What the hell did he just let go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what indeed~
> 
> next is the final chapter!
> 
> https://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


	6. Into the Fire

The kid didn’t heal Ito’s wounds. The man is still unconscious when Iwaizumi stands and makes his way over to check on him. There’s some blood on the back of his head from where he hit the wall, but his breathing and heart rate appears to be normal. Iwaizumi hoists him up to his feet, draping one arm around his shoulders in order to half-drag, half-carry the man out of the cell. For an old guy he’s heavier than expected, but Iwaizumi uses his magic to bolster his strength.

As he exits the dungeon basement, he feels a rush of anxiety that’s not his own.

_Tooru._

He staggers as quickly as he can toward the entrance to the cafeteria, nearly dropping Ito, as Oikawa comes into view in the hallway just outside. He’s wearing his hunting gear, and when he sees Iwaizumi, he sheaths the knife in his hand and hurries over.

“Iwa-chan!” he calls.

Iwaizumi barely has time to set Ito down before Oikawa grabs him in a hug, holding him tightly.

“Has it already started?” Iwaizumi asks, even as he clutches Oikawa.

Oikawa nods against his shoulder. “Yahaba and Kyouken are fighting the demons in the lobby. I couldn’t get ahold of Tetsu-chan, but Matsukawa and Shallot-kun are here too.”

“Wait, there are _demons_ here?” Iwaizumi pushes Oikawa back by his shoulders to look at his face.

Oikawa nods. “It seems Ito summoned them after he switched ownership of the con—” He stops, staring at Iwaizumi’s forehead. “Iwa-chan . . .” He reaches for it, touching the smooth skin lightly. “How—”

“It’s a long story,” Iwaizumi says, grabbing his hand and pulling it away, giving it a small squeeze. He glances down at Ito’s body slumped on the floor beside him. “Right now, we have to get him to Nekomata-san.”

Oikawa nods. “Yahaba’s going to keep two of the demons alive for evidence, and Watari-kun is calling the Eastern Star headquarters.”

Iwaizumi glances toward the elevators. “Since Ito was working on transferring ownership of the demons to himself, he probably has the contracts up in his office. We should make sure to tell Nekomata-san about it.”

Oikawa grins, pulling the knife back out from the belt at his waist. “Should we go help Yabaha-kun in the meantime?”

Iwaizumi wants to say yes, but he glances down at Oikawa’s knee instinctively. “Should you really be fighting right now?”

Oikawa pouts. “Iwa-chan! We haven’t hunted together in over a year! Let’s exterminate some demons!”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, even as his chest aches. He wants to fight alongside Oikawa again, but if Oikawa permanently damages his knee, there won’t be any more hunting in the future. “Someone needs to keep an eye on Ito. Make sure he doesn’t come to and run off while we’re busy fighting his demons. Take him to the lobby and put him behind the receptionist desk and stay with him. I’ll help Yahaba and the others.”

Oikawa heaves a long-suffering sigh, sheathing the knife once more. “Fine. But you owe me one.”

Iwaizumi leans up to kiss him briefly. “You’ll thank me later when you can still walk when you’re fifty.” He steps over Ito’s body, gesturing to it as he heads down the hall. “I’ll leave you to babysit, then.”

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa calls after him.

Iwaizumi breaks into a jog and then a sprint, telling himself he did the right thing. If Ito does wake and try to escape, Oikawa’s magic is more than strong enough to keep him restrained.

He hears the sound of the fight before he reaches the lobby and skids to a stop when he reaches it. It definitely looks like a warzone. There’s black, purple, and blue blood streaked across the floor, the various pieces of furniture, and even the wall, staining the pure white interior. There’s some red mixed in there, too, and Yahaba, Matsukawa, Kindaichi, and Kyoutani look haggard, covered in various gashes, their own blood mixing with the blood of the demons they’ve wounded or slain. There are still five demons, one against each human and two against Kyoutani.

Rushing forward, Iwaizumi summons his magic, casting the spell to form it into a sword. With a cry, he leaps into the air, using both hands to slash the blade across the back of one of the ones fighting Kyoutani. It shrieks in pain, twisting around, but Iwaizumi rolls under its swinging arm, popping back up on his knees and plunging the sword into its chest. With another scream, the demon bursts into black smoke, dissipating as it returns to its dimension. Kyoutani, no longer burdened by two enemies, focuses his attention on the second demon, tackling it to the floor and ripping into its throat with his teeth.

Iwaizumi stands, shouting the spell for containment, a golden bubble of magic appearing around the one engaged with Kindaichi. The boy hops back in surprise, glancing over at Iwaizumi and then grinning. “Iwaizumi-san!” he shouts, fist in the air. At the same time, Matsukawa lobs off the head of the one he’s fighting as it gets distracted by the bubble.

Iwaizumi nods, turning to the one fighting Yahaba. Seeing two of its allies gone and the other imprisoned by magic, it turns to flee, beating its wings into Yahaba’s face to knock him back. He stumbles and falls hard on his backside, his sword bursting into golden sparkles.

Forgoing his own sword, Iwaizumi channels his energy into making a second bubble, while keeping the first intact. He can feel the strain like a headache twinging across his forehead, but he manages to complete the second spell before the demon can make it outside, trapping it and causing it to fall. The bubble keeps it from hitting the ground too hard, and it turns to glare at Iwaizumi, hissing.

Both demons test the bubble prisons with their claws and wings, but they hold. Exhaling shakily, Iwaizumi turns to the others.

“How is everyone doing?” he asks.

“Not dead, so pretty good,” Matsukawa says, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve. His suit is torn in multiple places, and there appears to be a gash in his side.

Kindaichi and Yahaba don’t look much better, each panting with blood streaming from cuts on their faces and arms. Kyoutani limps over to Yahaba, licking the blood from his cheek. Yahaba starts in surprise, before patting the Hound’s head lightly.

“I’m okay,” he assures him with a weak smile.

Watari rushes in from outside, eyes wide. “I’ve got healing stones and potions!” he calls, setting some clothing on the floor beside Kyoutani before pulling his backpack off and rummaging through it.

As the others gather around him and Kyoutani shifts back into his human form to dress, Oikawa’s head pops up from behind the receptionist desk.

“Is it over already?” he asks in surprise.

“Your guys took care of things pretty well,” Iwaizumi says, gesturing to the small group.

Oikawa grins proudly. “I’ve got good taste, don’t I?” He steps out from behind the desk, dragging Ito across the floor by his foot. “What are we going to do about him?”

Watari looks up from where he’s passing a healing stone over Kindachi’s arm. “Oh, Nekomata-san and some others are on their way from the House of the Eastern Star,” he reports. “They should be here soon.”

Iwaizumi steps over to a chair that’s lying on its side, picking it up to set it on its legs and sit, facing the two demons in their magic bubble prisons. “Guess that means we wait.”

In the time it takes for Nekomata to arrive, Watari has healed everyone. Ito begins to stir, so Oikawa places him in a bubble as well. Kyoutani comes over to stand by Iwaizumi’s chair, arms crossed over his chest, glaring over at Oikawa and the body of Ito, while Kindaichi takes a similar stance by one of the demons, and Matsukawa does beside the other. Iwaizumi’s grateful for the extra security, since the longer the bubbles stand, the more energy it drains from him. He’s got an ample supply stored up from his time in the collar, but it won’t last forever.

Yahaba seems a bit lost, eventually going over to stand by Oikawa, though he sends small glances toward Kyoutani. Iwaizumi’s not sure what that’s about, but before he can ask Kyoutani for an update on how his life has been this past month, Nekomata walks in.

He’s got a man and a woman on either side of him dressed in similar robes as him. Iwaizumi doesn’t recognize them, but Oikawa greets them all with a bow.

“Ito Masaru,” he presents with a flourish of his hands. “And the demons that belong to him.” He gestures to the two in Iwaizumi’s bubbles. “There were quite a few more, but my kouhai and his companions dispatched them.” He drapes his arm over Yahaba’s shoulders and holds up a finger. “If you check upstairs in Ito-san’s office, I’m sure you’ll find all the evidence you need to show that this man had his council members send their contracts to him so he could transfer ownership to himself.”

Nekomata nods to the two beside him. They march forward toward the elevators, and Nekomata turns to Ito, who stares back at him sullenly.

“It appears you have been caught, Ito-san,” he says calmly, arms folded into his robes. “Is there anything you’d like to say before I take you back to the Eastern Star?”

“You’re making a mistake,” Ito snaps. “The apocalypse is coming. The more power we have, the more likely we are to stop it.” He turns his glare onto Iwaizumi. “That traitor set free the best weapon we had. If it chooses the wrong side, we’re all doomed.”

“You broke the law, Masaru,” Nekomata says flatly. “You may be right, but you are not above the law.”

He lifts his hand, giving Oikawa a nod. The bubble drops, and Nekomata places one of his own around Ito. He glances over at the two demons, who are watching everything with snarls twisting their faces. Iwaizumi points to their arms.

“Look at their brands,” he says.

Nekomata steps toward them, peering into the bubbles to the demons’ arms which read “Property of Ito” in Japanese kanji. He purses his lips and nods. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san. I can take it from here.”

Iwaizumi nods back and drops the bubbles from around the demons. Immediately they try to fly away, but Nekomata’s spell is near-instantaneous, and he catches them before they can leave the lobby. They shriek in disappointment and anger, but they’re muffled by the magic.

The elevators _ding_, and the two council members from before return, one of them carrying a laptop.

“Right! Let’s go,” Nekomata says, before turning to bow to the others. “Thank you for your assistance in this matter. I apologize for not acting sooner, but we needed the proof.”

“Good thing you had an amazing Hunter like me full of initiative and great intellect to lead the investigation,” Oikawa says with a self-satisfied grin, holding up two fingers in a peace sign.

“Yahaba, hit him for me,” Iwaizumi instructs, being too far away to do it himself.

Yahaba slaps down Oikawa’s hand.

Oikawa squawks and rubs the back of it, looking at Yahaba in shock and betrayal. “Really, Yahaba-kun?! My own precious kouhai?!”

“Sorry, Oikawa-san,” Yahaba says, not at all apologetic.

“That was horribly uncute of you,” Oikawa pouts.

Nekomata has turned away and walks toward the shattered door, the three bubbles with their occupants and the council members following. Iwaizumi hurries after him.

“Nekomata-san!” he calls.

The man pauses, turning to look back at him with raised eyebrows. “Yes?”

Iwaizumi halts, his heart pounding rapidly in his ears. “I just wanted to ask . . . I don’t know what’s going to become of the White Rose coven, but I was wondering . . . would it be possible for me to join the Eastern Star? I’d like to be Oikawa’s partner. His hunting partner, with . . . the opportunity for more.”

He glances over to see Oikawa staring at him with wide eyes. The back of his neck grows hot, and he quickly turns back to Nekomata, who’s watching him thoughtfully.

“It can be discussed,” he says with a slow nod. “I’ll get back to you after the Councils have decided what to do with Ito and the others. It may be a few days, but you’ve proven your loyalty to justice, if not to your coven, so I don’t think others on the Eastern Star council will have an issue with it.”

Iwaizumi bows deeply. “Thank you, Nekomata-san.”

“Iwa-chan?!” Oikawa grabs his elbow, as Nekomata leaves the building with the others. “What do you mean ‘the opportunity for more’? What does that _mean_?”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Iwaizumi shrugs him off, not about to get into it with the others around. As he turns around, he sees that they’re all watching him with varying levels of interest. The flush spreads to his face.

“So, uh, I guess we should . . . go?”

Kindaichi raises his hand. “I left Kunimi-kun at Oikawa-san’s place. Can I go back with you to get him?”

“Oh, well, yeah, of course,” Iwaizumi says, confused as to why he felt he needed to ask.

Yahaba steps up to Kyoutani and hesitates before walking past him. “We should head back to work,” he says, glancing over at Watari, who jumps up, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

The two of them leave, with Kyoutani watching them go. Iwaizumi steps over to him, realizing he hasn’t seen the guy in nearly an entire month. Guilt twists in his chest, and he reaches up to touch Kyoutani’s shoulder.

“Hey. You okay?”

Kyoutani looks at him, nodding once. He frowns, then, reaching up to poke at Iwaizumi’s forehead.

“Oh. Yeah, it’s gone,” Iwaizumi says with a short laugh, rubbing at the spot. He lifts his forearm. “This one, too.”

Kyoutani stares in awe, fingers stroking the smooth skin gently. “Like never happened,” he mutters.

“Almost,” Iwaizumi agrees, pretty sure the memories will stick with him forever. “But what about you? Oikawa isn’t being too annoying, is he?”

Kyoutani looks away. “Not stay with Oikawa,” he grunts.

Iwaizumi blinks. “Where’ve you been staying?” he asks, hoping he hasn’t been sleeping behind dumpsters again. He can understand not wanting to live with Oikawa, but wouldn’t homelessness be worse?

Kyoutani doesn’t answer, but when Iwaizumi follows his gaze, he finds he’s staring after Yahaba and Watari. He remembers the way Kyoutani went to Yahaba’s side after the fight, how tenderly he licked the blood from his wound. Iwaizumi smirks faintly.

“Ah, I see,” he says, nudging Kyoutani gently. “Well?”

Kyoutani looks back at him with a frown of confusion.

Iwaizumi tilts his head toward the retreating figures. “Go after your man.”

Kyoutani’s ears grow red, but he stalks off in the direction Yahaba and Watari went, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Iwaizumi can’t help but laugh softly, glad Kyoutani seems to be adjusting well, finding his own place in this world. He deserves it.

“I should probably get going too,” Matsukawa drawls. He steps up to Iwaizumi, clapping him on the back of the shoulder. “Good job with the undercover work. I get why all the kids in training look up to you.”

Iwaizumi’s face is on fire once more. He rubs the back of his neck, chuckling softly. “Thanks, I think?”

“Don’t mention it. Keep an eye on that guy, though. He seems like trouble.”

He jerks his thumb toward Oikawa, who’s staring at him intently, looking about to burst into some kind of emotion, Iwaizumi’s not sure which one, exactly. He wonders if Oikawa even knows.

“You have no idea.”

Matsukawa smirks before heading out. Then it’s just the three of them, Oikawa, Kindaichi, and Iwaizumi, standing in the middle of the defiled lobby of the White Rose headquarters. There’s broken glass, chair stuffing, and bloodstains in multiple colors everywhere. The formerly pristine interior is nowhere to be seen, and Iwaizumi can’t help but smile in smug satisfaction.

_Serves them right._

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, stepping gingerly through the glass shards that litter the floor. When he passes by Oikawa, he takes his hand, pulling him along until Oikawa jolts out of whatever state he was in and matches his pace. Kindaichi follows along on his other side.

“What did you mean when you said that?” Oikawa hisses at him. “What opportunity are you talking about?”

“I said, we’ll talk about it later,” Iwaizumi hisses back, still not completely comfortable with Kindaichi right there.

Oikawa makes a sound like a boiling kettle. “Iwa-chan!”

“No.”

He continues this harassment, as they make their way to the train station, repeating the childish nickname in various ways from pleading whines to annoyed shouts. Iwaizumi refuses to give in, even as Kindaichi looks increasingly uncomfortable beside them and passers-by give them strange looks.

“I’m just going to keep doing this until you tell me,” Oikawa warns once they’re on the train.

“Go ahead. You’ll lose your voice eventually.”

“Mean! You’re so mean. I can’t believe you won’t just tell me!”

“You were just bragging about how smart you were. Figure it out yourself.”

“I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend. I can’t believe I’m dating such a rude and uncute person. You’re killing me, Iwa-chan! You’re killing your boyfriend!”

Iwaizumi presses his lips into a thin line and doesn’t respond. Kindaichi shuffles his feet, glancing sidelong at them worriedly. Iwaizumi brushes off his concern.

“It’s fine. He’s just being a baby,” he assures him.

Oikawa gasps, affronted. “Excuse you! I’m asking an incredibly valid question about something _you_ said pertaining to _me_ and _our_ relationship!”

“And _I_ told _you_ we’d talk about it later. You’re literally acting like a child right now.”

That shuts him up, but he visibly pouts the rest of the way to their station. The truth is, Iwaizumi blurted out that last bit without really meaning to, just desperate for Nekomata to understand how important joining the Eastern Star coven would be to him. It’s not just that he wants to hunt with Oikawa. He wants to wash his hands clean of the White Rose and the horrible things they’ve done, that he was even privy to and perpetrated. He didn’t have to train those kids, and even though he knows it was better to make sure they had proper training before going into Hinokoku, he still made no move to stop it. His stealing the portal pendant did little to delay anything, and he knows it was a sorry attempt at changing the coven’s traditions.

He’s been a coward up until now, and though he no longer bears the outer scars of his past with the White Rose, the ones inside him linger on, and probably will for a long time.

No matter what the other covens decide to do with Ito and his council members, he knows he doesn’t want anything to do with the White Rose from now on.

Being a member of the Eastern Star gives him a new start, a new family. He knows its members aren’t perfect; there might even be some horrible people among them. But he trusts their leadership: Nekomata-san and his fellow council members. It’s a step in the right direction.

Furthermore, as a member of the House of the Eastern Star, he can hunt with Oikawa legally. And while he doesn’t care what Ito and the rest of the White Rose Coven Council think of his relationship with Oikawa, taking steps towards the next level with him will be easier if he has the support of his coven.

He does want to reach that next level, but they’ve never talked about it before, and so nerves swirl around in his stomach, and he tries to come up with something eloquent to say when the time comes. Something meaningful and not _too_ cheesy.

Oikawa’s mother, Riko, greets them when they get to the house, stepping out of the kitchen in an apron tied around her black turtleneck sweater and dark green tactical pants. There’s a knife sheath strapped to her thigh, which directly contrasts the mixing bowl in her hands.

“Welcome home,” she says to the trio.

“I’m home,” Oikawa and Iwaizumi reply, while Kindaichi bows and says, “sorry for intruding.”

“Hajime! It’s so good to see you. It’s been forever.” Riko steps forward to give him a warm hug, handing the bowl to Oikawa.

Iwaizumi returns the hug, taking a moment to bury his face in her neck. The Oikawas have always treated him more like family than his own do, and he realizes how much he’s missed her with a twinge in his chest.

“I don’t get a hug?” Oikawa asks with a pout, mixing obediently.

“I saw you this morning,” Riko says, shaking her head. “I haven’t seen Hajime in years.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “By the way, you left a sick boy on our couch. Care to explain that?”

“Oh! He’s mine,” Kindaichi says, blushing as the three turn to look at him. “I-I mean, he’s with me. I’ll just . . .” He gestures ineffectively, before skirting around them to approach the couch. He doesn’t try to wake Kunimi but picks him up in his arms in a bridal carry, bowing awkwardly before heading for the door.

“You don’t need to go right away,” Riko tells him. “I made soup.”

“Thank you, but I should get him to bed,” Kindaichi says, attempting to get the door open without dropping his friend.

Iwaizumi steps over to open it for him, and he gives him a grateful look. “Thanks, Iwaizumi-san. And, um, thanks for everything else, too.”

Iwaizumi smiles. “Take care of yourself, Kindaichi,” he says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. He genuinely wishes the boy well, and he’s glad Kunimi won’t have to go through the Hinokoku trial after all.

Kindaichi nods, adjusting Kunimi in his arms before stepping outside. It’s grown darker, the sun beginning to set behind the trees and buildings of the neighborhood. Iwaizumi watches Kindaichi pause at the end of the driveway, Kunimi slipping out of his grasp to stand. He still keeps his arm around the younger man, and the two of them make their way toward the nearest train station.

Iwaizumi closes the door, sliding off his shoes and stepping into a pair of house slippers before following the sounds of Oikawa and his mother arguing in the kitchen. They stop abruptly when he enters, which leaves him to suspect the topic was him. Before he can ask about it, though, Oikawa hands Riko the mixing bowl and grabs Iwaizumi’s hand to pull him back toward his room.

“We’ll be out for dinner!” he calls over his shoulder.

“You better be! Chikara and Takeru-kun will be here!”

Iwaizumi brightens at the thought of seeing Oikawa’s sister and nephew, but his nerves immediately return once Oikawa shuts the door behind him and they’re alone in the bedroom. His gaze has grown sharp, and he looks like an eagle observing its prey, as he moves to stand directly in front of Iwaizumi, looking down at him from his annoying height.

“So. Iwa-chan. It’s later. Talk.”

A chuckle dies in Iwaizumi’s throat, as he takes a small step back, his heart hammering away. “I just . . .” He runs a hand through his hair, feeling about as eloquent as Kindaichi right now. “You had to have thought about it, right?” He lifts his hands to the side helplessly. “You and me, hunting together, and then . . . when we’re older . . .”

Oikawa continues staring at him, not finishing his thought for him.

Iwaizumi groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“You made me wait over an hour so yes, Iwa-chan, you’re going to have to say it,” Oikawa says without pity.

Iwaizumi steels himself, reaching out to slap his hands on either side of Oikawa’s face. His own is burning, but he makes himself look his best friend directly in the eyes.

“When we’re older, I want to marry you!” he declares, the words coming out louder than he means them to, as he forces them past the lump forming in his throat.

Oikawa’s eyes are wide, but he can’t be too surprised. It’s obvious that’s what Iwaizumi was going to say, isn’t it? Oikawa doesn’t say anything, and Iwaizumi can feel sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip. Then, Oikawa’s lips curve into a smile, and he reaches up to wrap his hands around Iwaizumi’s wrists.

“Oh, is that all?”

“What do you mean ‘is that all’?” Iwaizumi growls, wondering if Oikawa’s really taking his heartfelt declaration so lightly. “It’s pretty fucking important to . . .” He trails off, realizing Oikawa’s fucking with him, as his grin has turned into a faint smirk. “I hate you.”

Oikawa laughs. It’s a sound of pure joy and delight, and Iwaizumi has a hard time maintaining his scowl.

“No, you don’t! You want to marry me!”

“Shut up! I haven’t even talked to your parents yet,” he says, slapping his hand over Oikawa’s mouth and glancing guiltily towards the door. “And I don’t even know how it’ll work if I can’t get into the Eastern Star coven. You’re on track to be one of the top Demon Hunters in the country, and I can’t let my White Rose reputation keep you from—”

Oikawa pulls his hand away from his mouth and cuts him off with a kiss. Iwaizumi tenses on instinct, but as Oikawa’s lips move against his, he relaxes into it, letting his other hand slip down to hold the side of his neck. The kiss deepens, lingers, and Iwaizumi feels some of his anxiety fade, as he exhales shakily. When Oikawa pulls away, it’s only to rest his forehead against Iwaizumi’s.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says softly, smiling softly, now. “I want to marry you too, Hajime.”

He makes it seem so simple. Like it’s something anyone can do. No problem. Iwaizumi wants to believe it.

“Come on, Mom will get mad if we don’t help her set up for Chikara and Takeru,” Oikawa says, taking his hand and turning toward the door.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, staying where he is and pulling Oikawa back. “You really think everything will work out?”

Oikawa gives him his favorite grin; the one that fills Iwaizumi’s with the confidence that they can do anything, so long as they’re together. “I know it will.”

* * *

Kunimi wakes to find himself lying in a bed that’s not his own, covered with a sheet and blanket up to his chin, a compress on his forehead. He can tell his fever has broken, no longer feeling like he’s going to melt from the inside out. He mostly feels tired, but that’s nothing new. Reaching up, he removes the compress. The movement triggers another beside him, and he blinks up at Kindaichi, as he sits up on his elbow to look down at him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice scratchy with sleep. He rubs his eyes and yawns. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Kunimi replies softly, wondering if he spent the entire night in Kindaichi’s bed with him. It’s not . . . unusual, exactly, but there’s definitely something different about it now as opposed to when they were kids. He notices then that he’s wearing pajamas that are slightly too big on him. He lifts both his hands, watching as the long sleeves fall down over his fingers so only the tips show. “Am I . . . wearing your pajamas?”

Kindaichi coughs, looking away, as his cheeks grow pink. “Um, yeah. Sorry. I didn’t want to put you to bed in your clothes. I didn’t look or anything though!”

Kunimi bites back a smile. “It’s fine if you did. I don’t mind.”

The pink darkens to red. “S-sorry,” Kindaichi squeaks.

While he stews in his embarrassment, Kunimi stretches his arms over his head and tries to recall everything that happened yesterday. Hanamaki was sent back to his dimension, he remembers that with a sting of irritation. His father got away with everything. But then, Kindaichi and the others went to stop the White Rose coven council from destroying more evidence . . .

“What happened at headquarters?” he asks.

Kindaichi blinks. “Oh! That. Um, yeah me and Matsukawa-san and a couple guys from the House of the Eastern Star fought off a bunch of demons that were guarding the lobby. Oikawa-san got Ito-san and we spared a couple demons as evidence and then Nekomata-san showed up and took them away. I haven’t heard anything new about it yet, though. It was getting kind of late by the time we got back here, so I don’t know if anything is even decided.”

“You fought demons?” Kunimi asks with a faint frown, lifting the blankets to scan Kindaichi’s body for any signs of injury. Logically, he knows that if Kindaichi _had_ been wounded, someone would’ve healed him already. But it’s his first instinct.

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I only got a little banged up,” Kindaichi says with a faint grin, placing his hand over his to lower the covers. “One of the Eastern Star guys healed me right after, so I don’t even have any new scars or anything.”

Kunimi runs his teeth along his bottom lip. “What time is it now?” he asks.

Kindaichi reaches across Kunimi to grab his phone off the bedside table. Kunimi holds his breath at the new proximity, feeling somewhat pathetic but not exhaling until Kindaichi has pulled back to look at his phone screen.

“It’s nine-thirty . . . hey!”

Kunimi blinks. “What?”

Kindaichi lowers his phone, grinning down at him. “Happy birthday, Kunimi-kun.”

“Oh.” All his breath leaves him on his next exhale, not entirely sure how he feels about it being his birthday. For the past year he’s been training and studying for his Hinokoku trial, dreading it, resigning himself to it. Now, with Ito in custody and no doubt the other coven council members following suit, he’s left with an empty feeling in his chest. He has zero plans, he realizes. There’s nothing for him to do. The past year has been a complete waste of time.

He doesn’t even have a home anymore. He swore off his family. Swore off his entire coven. A part of him feels adrift suddenly, floating somewhere above the bed, watching time move around him. What’s he supposed to do now? The only thing he knows for sure is he has to find a way to get Hanamaki back. But in the meantime? Where will he go? His limbs feel impossibly heavy, sinking into the mattress, becoming one with the sheets.

A warm breath ghosts across his lips, and suddenly his vision is filled with Kindaichi’s face, as he presses a gentle kiss against his mouth. The contact pulls him back into the present, and he lifts his hand easily, threading his fingers through Kindaichi’s hair. He kisses him back slowly at first, and then more urgently, gripping the dark strands of hair firmly. Kindaichi’s lips part for his tongue, and he pushes it through to taste him.

It doesn’t matter what happens next, he realizes. Because Kindaichi is here with him, and he won’t let him get stuck. He’ll keep pulling him forward, help him figure out the next step.

Kindaichi’s tongue licks back against Kunimi’s with a soft moan. He wraps his arm around Kunimi, lifting him up off the mattress some in order to hold him against his chest. He cradles him like something precious, and Kunimi fights the blush that rises on his cheeks. Nibbling softly on Kindaichi’s lower lip, he reluctantly pulls back in order to breathe, panting softly. Kindaichi’s cheeks are pink again, and when he opens his eyes, they’re a bit glassy.

“So, um!” He squeaks before clearing his throat. “Uh, I-I was thinking . . . until you figure out where you want to live you can, um, stay here?”

Kunimi stares back at him. “Will your parents like that?”

Kindaichi looks surprised, now. “They like you, Kunimi-kun! I explained the whole situation to them. They pretty much insisted that you stay here. I didn’t even have to ask, really!”

Kunimi wonders if that’s really true, but it’s Kindaichi, and he’s incapable of deceit. “Okay,” he says with a nod. “I’ll stay here. For now.”

Kindaichi beams, looking happier than Kunimi’s seen him in months. Kunimi moves his hand from his hair, running his thumb along the scar beside his eye. “I need to see my grandfather. See if he can help me get Hanamaki-san back.”

Kindaichi nods. “Sure, yeah, we can go over to his place. But, um, is that all you want to do for your birthday?”

Kunimi considers that. Smirking faintly, he sits up and turns abruptly, shoving Kindaichi back against the bed beside him. Kindaichi looks stunned, staring up at Kunimi, as he pins his wrists down against the pillows on either side of his head.

“K-Kunimi-kun?”

“Call me Akira,” is all Kunimi says, before bending down to delve back into Kindaichi’s mouth. They have a lot of time to make up for.

He’s not sure how long they lay there, kissing and kissing and kissing until they’re both breathless with swollen lips and half-hard erections, but it feels like much too soon when Kindaichi’s mother calls for them from downstairs that breakfast is ready.

Kindaichi grimaces, leaning his head back against the pillow. Kunimi’s ended up halfway on top of him, and he’s not very eager to move either. Kindaichi’s hair is mussed, most of the stiffness gone now from a night of sleep and Kunimi’s fingers running through it so much. He looks pretty well debauched, and Kunimi wants to know what he looks like after sex. Unfortunately, it looks like that’ll have to wait.

“She’ll probably come up here if we try to skip,” Kindaichi admits apologetically.

“Yeah,” Kunimi sighs, knowing Kindaichi’s mom well enough to know he’s right.

Before he can move away, though, Kindaichi pulls his wrist out of Kunimi’s grasp, grabbing the back of his head to pull him down into one final firm kiss.

“Why haven’t we been doing this the whole time?” he asks with a wistful sigh, once Kunimi scrambles off him and tries to think of turn-offs.

“Because we’re idiots,” Kunimi says blandly, staring at the wall.

It takes them both a few minutes to get decent and another couple minutes to change into real clothes. Kindaichi’s mom looks like she knows exactly what they were doing when they enter the kitchen, but Kunimi refuses to be embarrassed by it. It’s his birthday, after all. He should get to do what he wants.

Breakfast is good, and the warm familial atmosphere of the Kindaichis is a stark contrast to the cold silence of the Kunimi family meals. Kindaichi’s mom reaffirms that Kunimi can stay, though she makes a point of saying he has to sleep on a futon on the floor, which makes Kindaichi blush. Kunimi agrees, but he doesn’t plan on staying on it anyway. He gets the feeling she knows that, but she’s done her motherly duty by setting the rule. Kindaichi’s dad is all smiles and stupid jokes which embarrass Kindaichi further, but it’s nice. The whole thing is nice, and Kunimi’s chest aches.

They ride the train to Kunimi’s grandfather’s place. Kindaichi holds the railing above, while Kunimi leans against him, peering down at Kindaichi’s phone as they read the recent news about the White Rose coven. Apparently, with the entire council under investigation for illegal demon summoning and contracting, all official House of the White Rose activity is halted. There will be no training sessions, no Hinokoku trials, and no license exams. Those active members of the coven are encouraged to seek out other covens to join or else wait for the final verdict as to the fate of the White Rose. No White Rose Demon Hunters are allowed to hunt without permission from the Eastern Star after a thorough vetting process.

“Are you going to try and join another coven?” Kindaichi asks him softly.

Kunimi hums thoughtfully, resting his head against Kindaichi’s shoulder. “I’m not really looking to be a Demon Hunter, so I’ll probably just wait and see what happens. You should, though.”

“What?” Kindaichi sounds surprised.

Kunimi lifts his head to look up at him. “You want to be a Demon Hunter. Like Iwaizumi-san. You should join another coven so you can take your exam and get your license.”

Kindaichi chews on his lower lip. “If I do . . . will you join with me?”

Kunimi doesn’t think it should matter, but at the same time warmth fills him at the request. “Sure,” he says, guessing it couldn’t hurt. Secretly, he hopes the White Rose will be completely disbanded, in which case he’ll have to find another coven if he wants to keep his magic. Rogue witches are perceived as dangerous, and though Kunimi has no intention of becoming magic Batman or something, he doesn’t feel like risking the loss of his magic just to avoid an application and vetting process.

Besides, the happiness that lights up Kindaichi’s face makes it worth it.

Kunimi Rui’s house is much smaller than Kunimi Eiji’s. He moved out of the Kunimi estate when his wife got sick, preferring to stay with her at the care center. When she passed, he got a small place not far from the cemetery. Kunimi knows he walks to his grandmother’s grave every Sunday, and that he keeps his nose out of his son’s business. Kunimi hasn’t seen him since New Year’s.

“Do you think he’ll even remember me?” Kindaichi asks curiously, as they step up to the front door.

“We’ve been basically joined at the hip since I was five, so, probably.” Kunimi rings the doorbell.

“Do you think he knows what’s going on?”

Kunimi can only shrug. The door opens, an elderly man shorter than Kunimi peering out.

“Hey, Grandfather. It’s me. Akira,” Kunimi says, forcing his voice into a gentler intonation than he usually has.

His grandfather’s dark eyes widen. “Akira,” he says warmly despite the tremor in his voice. He takes a step back, opening the door wider. “Come in, come in.”

Kunimi does, slipping out of his shoes. Kindaichi follows suit, bowing toward the old man as well.

“Sorry for intruding. I’m—”

“Yuutarou-kun, yes I remember,” Rui grins. “I may be one step closer to the grave every day, but I still have my memory. You’ve grown tall! How old are you now?”

“Um, eighteen,” Kindaichi says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Rui nods. “Yes, still young. You’ll be quite handsome once you grow into those ears.”

Kunimi covers a laugh with a cough, as Kindaichi’s face burns, and he looks as though he can’t decide whether to be flattered or indignant.

“Ah, I shall put on some tea. Please, have a seat,” Rui shuffles further into the small living area, gesturing to the couch before making his way to the kitchen that’s attached to the room only a couple meters away.

Kunimi sits, but Kindaichi lingers by the wall where several photos are hung up. All of them featuring Kunimi and his parents, as well as a couple of his dad when he was younger. He knows that the photos are all terrible. None of them smiling, all standing in rigid poses. He hated taking those photos. He’s not sure why his grandfather keeps them.

“I’m convinced you were the cutest kid ever,” Kindaichi says with a grin, sitting next to him on the couch. “I’ve always thought that.”

Kunimi elbows him sharply.

“Ah, yes, the Kunimis have always been blessed with good looks,” Rui says with a grin, as he watches them from beside the stove. “I will say, though, Akira’s the only one whose looks haven’t been spoiled.” He shakes his head. “As Eiji’s heart grew cold, his ugliness shone through. But Akira . . . the good in his heart has kept him handsome. Like me!” He cackles to himself, turning to the stove as the kettle begins to whistle.

Kunimi really wishes they’d talk about something else, but Kindaichi looks interested in the topic, glancing between the two of them.

“Akira-kun’s always had a good heart,” he says. “He’s never been like his dad. I think it’s because of Hanamaki-san.”

Rui nods thoughtfully. “Could be. And you too, most likely.”

Kindaichi blushes again but seems pleased to take the credit.

“I’m actually here to talk to you about Hanamaki-san,” Kunimi says, latching onto the segue. “I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with the news, but he was banished back to his dimension. I want to get him back.”

Rui doesn’t respond right away, carrying the tea set over to set it on the table in front of the couch. He serves it with careful precision before fixing himself a cup and moving to sit across from them in one of the armchairs. He takes a sip of the tea before sighing.

“I knew summoning Takahiro would bring trouble eventually,” he admits. “My wife, your late grandmother, she’d always been frail. Her constant illness put a strain on our finances and our livelihood. I was desperate. I needed help. I summoned Takahiro in the hopes that he could help me care for her and Eiji while I worked. I chose Kouriki because I’d heard the demons there were more . . . tolerable. Less prone to violence.” He takes another sip of tea, staring off toward the window with a distant smile. “I could tell he was young, but he was very intelligent. Although I forced him into the contract, he never complained about caring for Kyouta or our son. I’m not sure what made him so compassionate, but I was grateful for it. Yes, he was mischievous and liked to cause chaos in the way you expect most demons would, but he never did anything to harm Kyouta or myself. At first, I thought it was because of the contract, but he didn’t even try or try to search for loopholes. Perhaps his telepathic abilities gave him more empathy.”

Kunimi finds himself leaning forward as he listens, never having heard of Hanamaki’s time with his grandfather.

Rui smiles down into his tea. “Yes, I lucked out with Takahiro. I should have sent him back as soon as Kyouta felt better, but I'd grown to rely on him. I suppose I got greedy. I told him I needed him to stay, to help look after my son. He agreed. I think by that point he’d grown fond of us, if demons can grow fond of anyone. But Eiji . . .” He sighs, his expression clouding over. “I don’t know where I went wrong with him. Perhaps I wasn’t home enough. Perhaps I allowed his training at the White Rose to influence him. At first, he liked Takahiro. Adored him, in fact. But once he started going to school, to his training, his demeanor toward the demon changed. He began treating him more like a slave than a member of the family, and as he got older, his behavior grew worse. I tried to talk him out of his experiments, but it was no use. By that time, I had no control over what he did, as the contract passed to him once he came of age. A stupid clause I made when I summoned him that I couldn’t undo.”

Kunimi bit his lip, anger burning in his chest to think of how long Hanamaki must’ve suffered under his father’s hand. “I . . . didn’t know he was doing the experiments until a couple days ago,” he admits, fingers clenching around the teacup in his hand.

“Hanamaki-san hid it from him. From all of us,” Kindaichi says, laying his hand gently on Kunimi’s arm. “Kunimi-san, you weren’t there to see it, but I was. Hanamaki-san took care of Akira-kun. He protected him. Made sure he didn’t turn out like his dad. He really loved him. I could tell.” He nods earnestly. “He didn’t want to leave when the Eastern Star found out about him. He wants Akira-kun to bring him back so he can continue taking care of him.”

Rui raises his eyebrows. “Is that true, Akira?”

Kunimi nods. “He wants . . . he needs to come back.” He sets his teacup down before he accidentally breaks it. “I need to know the original spell you used to summon him. Do you still have it?”

Rui strokes his chin slowly. “I may have bits and pieces lying around. It took a long time to create it and memorize the correct phrasing and gather the right ingredients and a lot of energy to cast the spell. It’ll take hard work.”

“I don’t care,” Kunimi says fiercely, and it’s the truth. No matter how much work it takes, he’s going to bring Hanamaki back.

Rui smiles, and a fire seems to light in his eyes. He looks at least a decade younger as he moves to stand. “Well! Then let’s get searching, shall we?”

* * *

Yahaba tries not to think about the fact that Kyoutani didn’t immediately follow him and Watari back to the clinic. He catches up eventually, without a word of explanation, and Yahaba doesn’t demand one. He reminds himself it doesn’t matter if Kyoutani decides he’s had enough of him and wants to return to Iwaizumi. He’s well within his rights to do that.

He absolutely does not think of Kyoutani licking blood from his face while in his Hound form, nor does he wonder what that gesture meant. He banishes it from his mind and focuses on apologizing to Watari-san and making it up to her with extra chores. Apparently quite a few patients and customers had stopped by while the three of them were out, and despite insisting that they’d been fighting demons for a very important cause, Watari-san showed no mercy.

With the three of them working together, though, it doesn’t take too long to clean everything. The floors and windows are sparkling once they’re done, and Yahaba feels pretty proud of their work.

“So, ramen?” he asks hopefully, turning toward the other two.

Watari grimaces. “I should probably stay and have dinner with my folks,” he says with an apologetic smile.

“Right, yeah,” Yahaba nods, even as his heart sinks. Will it just be him and Kyoutani? How mortifyingly awkward. He turns to the Hound, keeping his voice light and unaffected. “Is it just you and me then, big guy? Or will you be off to eat the scraps from Iwaizumi’s table?”

He wants to kick himself for saying it. It came out without him meaning it to, really, and it feels cruel. Kyoutani’s glare intensifies, his face growing red.

“_What_?” he snaps.

Yahaba waves him off, his heart pounding rapidly in his ears. “Don’t mind, I’m just teasing. Seriously, though, if you want to go back to Oikawa’s now that Iwaizumi’s no longer undercover that’s fine. I can just let Watari-san know you had to quit for . . . family obligations or something.”

“Not quit,” Kyoutani says flatly, shaking his head.

Yahaba blinks. “Okay. So . . .”

Kyoutani looks back at him like he expects him to know what’s happening. He doesn’t, so he just stares blankly back. Kyoutani huffs, snarling under his breath before turning and leaving abruptly. Yahaba stares after him, wondering what the hell _that_ was all about.

Watari gives him a nervous smile. “Are you _sure_ nothing happened between you guys?”

Yahaba bites the inside of his cheek. “I . . . should go talk to him,” he realizes with a sigh. Maybe get him to admit what exactly he’s so mad about . . .

“Good luck,” Watari says solemnly.

“Thanks.” Yahaba gives him a wan smile and a wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He grabs his bag from behind the desk, racing after Kyoutani, then.

“Hey!”

Kyoutani doesn’t turn around. In fact, he starts walking faster, hands clenched at his sides. Frowning, Yahaba picks up speed.

“Kyoutani!”

Kyoutani breaks into a run. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Yahaba races after him. He chases him down three blocks before Kyoutani skids to a halt at an intersection, forced to stop at a red light. Yahaba doubles over next to him, panting as his bag falls from his shoulder to hit the ground with a _thud_.

“Geez, what’s your problem?” he asks as he straightens, frowning. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

“No talk. Talk before,” Kyoutani growls.

“Yeah, we talked before, and you got mad at me then, too.” Yahaba picks up the bag, fitting it back over his shoulder. “I want to know why.”

Kyoutani scoffs, stalking forward as the light turns green. Yahaba hurries after him.

“Hey! I’m not going to stop following you until you talk to me, so unless you want me tailing you all the way to Oikawa-san’s place, you’re going to have to man up and say something.”

Kyoutani doesn’t slow. “You talk before. You say no tell others we fuck. You say it wrong. We did wrong. We pretend it not happen.”

Yahaba stares. “_That’s_ what you’re upset about? You know why I said that, right? I mean, I _explained_ it to y—”

He cuts off with a grimace, as Kyoutani rounds on him, grabbing the front of his shirt and shoving him against the side of the nearest building. He doesn’t hit it hard, but he’s pinned, as Kyoutani crowds into his space, breathing hard, his scowl masking something besides anger. He looks . . . hurt, almost. Maybe.

“You not understand,” Kyoutani growls. “I not fuck for-for _adrenaline_. In Hinokoku, I not choose who I mount. Here, I choose. I choose Yahaba.”

Yahaba blinks, feeling somewhat lightheaded. What is he trying to say? That it actually . . . _meant_ something to him? “It . . . it doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice sounding small and hoarse in his own ears. “You . . . you’re a Hell Hound. I’m human. It-it wouldn’t work.”

Kyoutani bares his teeth. “It work _fine_. It work good. No one know I am Hound. I am human, here.”

“Once I become a Demon Hunter . . . I’ll be away on missions. You can’t—” Yahaba’s grasping at straws, now. He can’t wrap his mind around what Kyoutani is saying. It’s so far off from what he planned, from where he saw himself. He doesn’t see how Kyoutani can fit into his life, the life that he wants, the one he’s worked so hard to achieve.

But he wants him there, doesn’t he? Despite all that, Kyoutani’s found a place at his side. And despite all the complications he foresees, he knows, deep down, he doesn’t want to give him up. Hasn’t that been the source of his inner conflict all this time? His feelings for Kyoutani? His heart’s pounding so loudly, he’s sure the Hound can hear it.

Kyoutani leans in closer. They’re almost nose-to-nose, and Kyoutani’s expression softens, just slightly, as his eyes search Yahaba’s.

“I fight with Yahaba,” he says slowly, firmly, repeating his words from earlier in the day. “I. _Stay_. With. Yahaba.” He punctuates each word with a gentle push against Yahaba’s sternum.

“You . . . stay . . .” Yahaba swallows hard, his head spinning.

Kyoutani nods slowly, relaxing further as it appears Yahaba’s finally getting it.

“You want to stay with me,” Yahaba reiterates softly, heart thudding in his ears. “To . . . hunt demons with me?”

Kyoutani nods again. “Hunt demons. Kill demons. Work in clinic. Eat with Watari. Live in house. Fuck. Stay. With you.” He pokes Yahaba’s chest with his finger. “Yes. Understand?”

Yahaba drops his bag beside him in the dirt. “I think so,” he says, the words rushing out on an exhale, as he grabs the front of Kyoutani’s shirt and yanks him forward the few inches between them, kissing him hard.

Kyoutani presses his arm against the wall beside Yahaba, as his other hand curls around his waist, tugging him closer so that their bodies are flush together. His lips are surprisingly soft, though the pressure is firm, unyielding, like he’s proving a point. Yahaba shivers involuntarily, but he brings his free hand up to push his fingers into the short strands of Kyoutani’s hair, cradling the back of his head. He tilts his own, slotting their lips together at a new angle that makes it easier to move them.

Kyoutani grunts softly, sounding pleased, and he parts his lips further to allow Yahaba’s tongue access when he goes searching for it. Yahaba feels the slight scrape of one of Kyoutani’s fangs, but then he’s met with the Hound’s warm, wet tongue and another shudder runs through him at the contact.

He kind of can’t believe this is all happening. He knows there are details they’ll need to work out. He can’t exactly live with Yahaba and his folks at their house, and if he’s going to hunt demons with him, he won’t be able to shift into his Hound form whenever he wants. They’ll have to be strategic about it, so he doesn’t get caught. They’ll have to get him a license, somehow, and—

Yahaba’s thought spiral breaks off abruptly, as Kyoutani shifts his leg in-between his and pushes up against his crotch. An embarrassing half-moan, half-strangled gasp emits from him, and he flushes at the way Kyoutani grins.

“Quit it, you animal,” he says breathlessly, pushing Kyoutani away. “We can’t do that here.”

Thankfully, Kyoutani steps back, though Yahaba mourns the loss of his body heat. He sags against the wall, running a shaking hand through his hair.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, we’ll have to talk more about this.” He looks up at Kyoutani. “There are a lot of things we have to consider. It’s _going_ to be complicated.”

Kyoutani shrugs. “Fine.”

“You won’t be able to shift into your Hound form in front of other people. At least, not those who don’t already know.”

Kyoutani huffs. “I know.”

Yahaba stares at him. “I’m not sure I’m worth all the trouble,” he admits finally.

Kyoutani rolls his eyes. “Dummy,” he says, stepping forward to grab Yahaba’s bag. He flings it over his shoulder before taking Yahaba’s hand with his free one. “We go home now.”

“Right, okay,” Yahaba says, allowing Kyoutani to tug him away from the wall. He’ll have to come up with some reason as to why Kyoutani has to spend the night again, but if this morning was any indication, his parents won’t mind.

He lets Kyoutani pull him down the sidewalk, taking a moment to rewind to what just happened against the building. He can’t keep the smile from his face, and when he quickens his pace to match Kyoutani’s stride, he gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

The next two months pass in a blur of work, training, and sex. So much sex. Watari’s parents surprisingly allow Kyoutani to stay with them for the time being, and Watari graciously gives up his room when the mood hits them, on the condition that they’ll stay off his bed. They manage it, most of the time. Yahaba pays for the dry-cleaning when they don’t. There are also the showers at the training gym, and the backroom of the apothecary. Watari calls them both horny animals, but Yahaba doesn’t care. Without the guilt, it’s _good_ and hot, and he hears Kyoutani’s soft, pleading whine in his dreams after the times they get creative.

Oikawa’s is, of course, obnoxious about the fact that he brought them together, and Kyoutani still doesn’t like him. But he tolerates him for Iwaizumi’s sake. Yahaba worried at first that he’d be jealous of Kyoutani’s attachment to Iwaizumi, but it’s obvious to everyone who Kyoutani likes best, now. He follows Yahaba everywhere and obeys his commands, even if he acts contrary at first. Yahaba knows he’s whipped too, though, and he finds himself roped into various activities around town when Kyoutani realizes just how big Tokyo is and how much there is to do outside of just working and training. His wallet takes a hit, but it’s worth it to see Kyoutani’s eyes light up at the sight of puppies at the pet store or fish at the aquarium.

When the day of his license exam arrives, he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be. There’s anxiety, yes, about as much as there’s to be expected, but Watari, Kyoutani, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and his parents show up to show their support, and with them cheering him on, he feels his confidence bolstered.

The written test is easy, and he realizes while taking it that there’s nothing actually in Japan’s Coven Laws about witches forming relationships with Hell creatures. There are laws against summoning and making contracts with demons, and forming attachments to demons is frowned upon due to their duplicitous nature and seductively “evil” magic. But Yahaba feels somewhat smug to me note that Kyoutani _isn’t_ a demon, and therefore he’s not breaking (or even bending) any laws with their relationship.

They still have to keep his identity a secret, because he knows people will still react poorly to the truth, but he feels less conflicted about it, at least. And maybe, one day, he’ll be able to tell his parents.

The physical test is next. It requires standing in front of members of the coven council and completing a series of spells, to then be graded on his technique, his strength, and whether or not the spell actually works. This is where he wants to shine, to showcase his abilities and prove he’s more than a mere passing student.

He remembers what Kyoutani taunt him, storing up the magical energy to add extra power to his spells. He uses this, finding he lasts longer than ever before. It really did build up his stamina. Interesting. Still, he feels somewhat wobbly after the test, and has to take a seat in the courtyard outside. Everyone gathers around him, eager for news, but all he can do is shrug.

“I won’t have the results until next week.”

“You passed, though,” Oikawa says confidently. “Of course you did. You’re _my_ kouhai.”

Yahaba smiles faintly. “I don’t think I did poorly. I just . . . don’t know if I made an impact.” His eyes find Kyoutani’s in the group, knowing he, at least, will understand what he means.

Watari taps his chin. “Does it matter if you make an impact on _them_, though?”

Yahaba glances over at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Well, isn’t it more important to make an impact on the people you’re saving? On the demons you’re killing and banishing? So, they know not to mess with you, and people know you’re reliable.” He raises his fist in the air. “You don’t have to be ‘Yahaba Shigeru, Great Defender of Humankind!’ in the exam room. You just need to be that out here, and you already are.” He grins.

Yahaba stands and gives Watari a rare hug. “I fucking love you,” he mutters in his best friend’s ear.

“Ah, well,” Watari replies, flushing as he pats his back lightly. “I love you, too.”

“Shigeru.”

Yahaba turns toward his parents, who are both looking at him with incredibly sappy proud looks on their faces. He wrinkles his nose, as his mother grabs his cheeks in her hands.

“We’re so proud of you! I know you did your best in there, and that’s all we can ask for.”

His father nods. “We’ve seen how hard you’ve been working, and we know it’ll pay off. That’s why we’re going to go ahead and give you this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a keyring with a single key on it.

Yahaba stares blankly at it, even as his father lays it in his hand. “What . . . is it?”

“We got you your own apartment,” his mother exclaims, clasping her hands together excitedly. “You’re twenty-one, after all, and I’m sure you and Kentarou-kun are eager to have your own space.” She gives him a meaningful look, but Yahaba’s too stunned to feel embarrassed that she’s apparently caught on to that whole thing.

“First, last and security is all paid,” his father says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll need to take care of utilities and electric and anything else you get, and of course rent after the first month, but by then I’m sure you’ll have plenty of hunting jobs to pay for it.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Yahaba admits, thinking a simple ‘thank you’ seems too inadequate.

“_Please_ say you’ll consult me before you make any interior decorating decisions,” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes beside him. “You have shit taste, Trashykawa.”

“Excuse you, I have excellent taste!” Oikawa squawks.

“Why don’t we all head to Yuda’s for celebratory ramen?” Yahaba’s mother suggests.

Everyone agrees, and they begin to walk off, though Yahaba notices Kyoutani’s lingering behind. He pauses beside him, giving him a quizzical glance.

“What’s up?”

Kyoutani frowns down at Yahaba’s hand that’s still clutching the key. “You have a new home?” His Japanese has gotten better after two and a half months of lessons with Watari, but he still speaks haltingly, choosing his words carefully in order to not mess them up or say the wrong thing.

Yahaba nods. “Yeah, my own place.” He bites his lip. “It . . . can be your place too, if you want.”

It’s too soon, probably. They’ve only known each other three months, after all. But Kyoutani can’t live with Watari’s family on top of the clinic forever. He’s still here, just as he said he’d be, and Yahaba gets the feeling that when Kyoutani said he’d stay with him, fight alongside him, _live_ with him, he meant it. Kyoutani does everything at 100%, and that seems to go with relationships, as well.

It’s somewhat terrifying, but at the same time, Yahaba wants to meet him there. He wants to see where this goes, how far he can take it, because he’s having fun and what they have means something to him. He cares about Kyoutani, maybe even . . .

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Yahaba starts out of his reverie to find Kyoutani looking at him intently.

“Yes, I live with you. I want.”

Yahaba smirks faintly. “You sure you’ll be able to handle me twenty-four-seven, big boy?”

Kyoutani rolls his eyes. Stepping forward, he lifts Yahaba up over his shoulder, to which Yahaba gives an indignant squawk.

“Hey! Put me down!”

“I handle you fine,” he says, as he starts to walk after the group.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Yahaba can’t help but laugh.

Kyoutani pauses but then continues to walk with Yahaba thrown over his shoulder.

“Are you seriously going to carry me like this all the way to Yuda’s?!”

“Can’t see your face now.”

“You _like_ my face.”

Kyoutani just grunts at that. Yahaba smacks his ass, which does cause him to put him down, only he drops him, and Yahaba lands on the sidewalk with a yelp of pain.

“You dropped me!”

“You hit me.”

“So you’d put me down, not so you’d _drop_ me!”

“Hey, you two lovebirds gonna join us or what?” Watari calls back with a good-natured grin.

Kyoutani helps him up, which is something. Instead of letting go, though, he pulls Yahaba in close, looking him dead in the eye. Yahaba feels a shiver run down his spine.

“I stay with Yahaba,” he says with finality, before tilting his head, frowning slightly as he amends, “with Shigeru.”

Yahaba wills his face not to heat up, but he’s not sure he succeeds. He swallows hard, nodding in reply. “I stay with Kentarou,” he says softly.

It feels monumental and yet somehow simple at the same time. Like there wasn’t any question. Of course, they’re going to stay together. Yahaba realizes he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kyoutani keeps his hand firmly clasped in his, as they catch up to the rest of the group. No matter what the outcome of the test, Yahaba thinks his future looks pretty bright.

* * *

It’s difficult to tell time in a world without clocks, but Hanamaki figures it’s been a couple months since he returned to his dimension. After two generations of modern technology and watching the advancements of such luxuries as television, internet, and mobile communication, Kouriki is very dull in comparison.

The king’s officials don’t visit. It seems they’ve given him up for dead after so much time away. Hanamaki spends his time hunting for food, remaking his bed (as it had decayed beyond comfort in his absence) and improving his art skills. His charcoal drawings are actually getting pretty good, he thinks, though his portrait subjects make his chest ache.

He draws Matsukawa, of course. Taking time on his curly hair and massive eyebrows. He draws his face from various angles with different expressions. His favorite is the one where Matsukawa is looking down, the corner of his mouth tilted up. It’s a look he often got while “reading,” whenever Hanamaki made a particularly good joke.

Akira is harder to get right. He’s never quite pretty enough, and Hanamaki throws down his bit of charcoal in annoyance more than a few times. Finally, though, he thinks he gets it, and then there are multiple drawings of Akira surrounding Matsukawa, looking like a bored angel in contrast to Matsukawa’s more angular, devilishly handsome figures.

His best one is of a younger Akira, around ten or eleven, napping on his side with his arm tucked under his head. That one came from a memory of a time when Akira went missing during a birthday party where the kids played hide-and-seek. Hanamaki had been tasked to go look for him, and he found the kid curled up underneath a bush, fast asleep. He didn’t wake when Hanamaki picked him up and carried him back, so Hanamaki excused him from the party and walked home with the sleeping boy in his arms.

He remembers his chest filling with so much warmth, and he didn’t want to leave his side, even after putting him to bed.

Hanamaki misses them both like knife twisting deeper into his chest every day.

He even draws a couple portraits of Kindaichi, usually paired with Akira, their heads bent together as they share secrets, the fond look Kindaichi gets whenever he looks at Akira when the other isn’t aware.

There end up being a couple scribbled erotic drawings of Matsukawa near his bed, to give him something to focus on when the loneliness creeps in, and he remembers the brief intimacy he and Matsukawa shared before the hearing. It’s a shame they never got to do more.

Although he has complete faith in Akira’s ability to bring him back, he has no idea how long it’ll take. Will it be months? Years? When he returns to Japan will it be to raise and look after Akira’s own children? He’ll do so in a heartbeat, but he highly doubts Matsukawa will wait for him that long.

Perhaps it’s selfish, but Hanamaki hopes Matsukawa misses him too. He often pictures the guy sitting by a window, staring off into the rain with a wistful expression. It’s not that he doesn’t want him to be happy, he just hates the thought of Matsukawa moving on and living a fulfilling life without him, while he’s stuck here waiting miserably for the opportunity to return.

The icy wastelands of Kouriki are unforgiving. It takes him hours to find food, if he doesn’t go into the nearest city, and he rarely does. Being around other demons and hellish creatures makes his skin crawl. The few times he ventures into the populace it’s only to trade for more cloth to make his fundoshi so he doesn’t have only one. Sometimes he’ll check to see if there are any scrolls or booklets worth reading, but most Kouriki literature revolves around war or slavery, which just makes him feel ill.

Sometimes he goes to a local tavern, drowns his sorrows in the Kouriki equivalent to Earth’s alcohol and listens to the various rumors and gossip traveling between Hell dimensions. Whenever Malikra’s name is mentioned he pays closer attention, not knowing if he’ll ever need the information but thinking it important to take it in, just in case.

Every once in a while, he’ll feel the nudge of a curious mind, but he blocks each attempt at communication. He has no urge to meet anyone. He hears his neighbors sometimes outside his cave, hunting or traveling to and from the city. He highly doubts they have anything interesting to say. Those that don’t live in the city are rarely educated in subjects other than war. They’re subscripted into the army, train, serve, then go back to the mountains to lay eggs and then die.

That was to be Hanamaki’s life too (aside from the laying eggs bit, though he probably would’ve found a mate to fertilize one with), until Kunimi Rui summoned him. He never expected his life would end up as colorful and interesting as it did. Yes, there was pain, but there was also beauty, in the humans, in the connections he formed.

He wants to go back.

He feels it like a tug in the center of his chest. It wakes him from sleep, and he sits straight up in bed, staring into the darkness of the cave, his heart pounding wildly. He feels it again, stronger this time, a definite _pull_.

_Akira._

He closes his eyes and wills it to happen, gathering his magic to lend to the summoning as best he can. He has no idea if something like that will work, but he does it anyway, as the air around him crackles and shimmers, growing thin.

There’s a loud _POP!_ and the world tilts on its axis. He falls, landing hard against a wooden floor in the center of a pentagram, surrounded by candles. There’s a buzzing in his ears, but it clears as he shakes his head. Something hits the floor in front of him with a _thud_, and he lifts his gaze to see a book, pages full of handwritten notes fluttering before coming to rest. Hanamaki follows the path it took to see Akira staring at him, eyes wide, like he can’t believe it worked.

“Hey kid.” Hanamaki gives him a crooked grin, as his heart swells. “Long time no see.”

Akira rushes forward, jumping over the candles to tackle Hanamaki with a hug. Hanamaki returns it, wrapping his arms around him tightly, as he buries his face in the boy’s hair, breathing in his scent, as his chest _aches_.

It feels so _fucking_ good to hold him again. He didn’t realize just how much he was touch-starved until this moment, and the warmth of Akira seeps into his skin. Reluctantly, he pulls away, just enough to take hold of his head with both hands, looking into his dark, red-rimmed eyes. Hanamaki runs his fingers through his fine hair, brushing it back from his face, before stroking his thumbs across his cheeks all the way to his ears and over them as well, moving his hands down to his neck and shoulders and then back up to his head. He can’t stop touching him, looking at him, soaking in each beautiful, delicate feature.

“How long was I gone, over here?” he asks thickly. Time sometimes works differently between dimensions, though Akira doesn’t look much older than he did when he left.

“Three months,” Akira mutters, blinking back the tears in his eyes. He drops his gaze. “It . . . I had the learn the spell exactly and store up enough energy for it . . .” He sounds almost apologetic.

Hanamaki shakes his head quickly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Holy shit, Akira-kun. You _did_ it. You brought me back! We should be celebrating!”

The candles go out on the floor around them. Hanamaki glances over to see one of them has been moved, breaking the circle. Looking up, his breath stalls in his throat, as he sees Matsukawa straightening from a crouch, lips quirked in that amazing half-smile of his. He lifts his hand in greeting, and Kindaichi’s standing a step or so behind and to the side of him, watching everything with a wide grin.

Akira steps to the side, clearing the path for Hanamaki to launch himself forward, tackling Matsukawa in much the same way Akira did to him. Matsukawa catches him around the waist, twirling him and laughing, as Hanamaki presses kiss after kiss against his face.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Hanamaki can’t stop saying. “Fuck, I missed you so much. _Fuck._”

“I missed you too,” Matsukawa says, setting him down in order to cup his face in his hand and kiss him deeply.

Hanamaki grips the front of his shirt, kissing him back desperately, hungrily. He doesn’t bother keeping it chaste, shoving his tongue past Matsukawa’s lips to taste him like he’s never had anything more delicious in his life. He can hear Kindaichi’s awkward cough, Akira’s soft “gross,” but he doesn’t care. He’s earned this reunion. Matsukawa responds in kind, holding him close, as his tongue presses against Hanamaki’s, and he moans softly.

It’s only when they can each feel the other getting too excited that they pull away. He’ll spare the kiddos _that_, at least. Even so, Matsukawa doesn’t release him, setting his forehead against his instead.

“There’s no contract this time,” he says softly. “You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I want to do you,” Hanamaki says immediately.

Matsukawa laughs. “I meant more like . . . Akira-kun’s living with his grandfather right now, and his place is small, but I’m sure they’ll make a place for you. Or . . . you can stay with me.”

Hanamaki raises his eyebrows. “Moving kind of fast, aren’t we?”

Matsukawa shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “The way I figure, we’ve been together for over a year now, it just took me that long to admit it. So, not that fast.”

“Shut up, I’m messing with you, of course I’m going to live with you, are you kidding?” Hanamaki laughs. He glances over at Akira, who’s moved to stand next to Kindaichi. “I’ll come over all the time to see you, promise. I’d like to see Rui again too, how’s the old guy doing?”

Akira smirks faintly. “Old. But he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Hanamaki glances between Matsukawa and Akira, wondering how he got so lucky. His grin fades, though, as he remembers something. A rumor he heard back in Kouriki that he told himself he would relay to his friends as soon as he saw them again, if it wasn’t too late.

“Shit, I almost forgot,” he says, pulling away from Matsukawa but taking his hand to hold. “I need to tell you guys something, about Malikra.”

“Malikra?” Kindaichi echoes, reacting to the name with a start of horror.

Matsukawa frowns. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“He’s the king of Hinokoku; I think you guys would call him a Class 1 demon. For decades he’s been building an army, conquering other Hell dimensions to add to his forces. Kouriki hasn’t fallen, yet, but they’ve been battling each other for a while now. While I was in the city, I heard rumors that we’re close to losing and, after he gets Kouriki, he’s coming for Japan.”

Kindaichi inhales sharply, his face growing pale. Akira takes his hand, glancing at him worriedly. Matsukawa’s frown darkens.

“Ito Masaru, the former leader of the White Rose coven, he said something about an apocalypse coming. That he had a weapon that was supposed to be able to stop it.”

“A weapon?” Hanamaki blinks. _A single weapon to take down the most powerful demon in all of the Hell dimensions?_

Matsukawa nodded. “He wouldn’t say what it was, not even when they interrogated him. He also never said when he thinks this apocalypse will happen.”

Hanamaki turns to Akira. “How much energy did it take to summon me?”

Akira frowns faintly. “Not as much as I thought it would.”

Hanamaki smiles grimly. “That means the barriers between the dimensions are already thinning. From what I heard, the prediction was Kouriki would fall within a few months. Sounds like we have only a bit longer than that. We should tell Nekomata-san as soon as possible.”

Matsukawa laces his fingers through his. “We will,” he says. “But first, let’s get you some clothes and food.”

Hanamaki glances down at the fundoshi he’s wearing. “Is there something wrong with this?” he asks with a smirk.

Matsukawa matches it with one of his own. “Well, _I_ don’t mind, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be walking around Tokyo like that.”

“People can’t know you’re a demon,” Kindaichi adds apologetically.

“Yeah, I know, kid. It’s cool,” Hanamaki says, more than willing to handle the discomfort of wearing a human form if that means he gets to live with the people he loves.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got some rice cooking,” Matsukawa says, as he steps toward the door.

“Is this your place?” Hanamaki asks, surprised, taking a closer look at the room around him. He sees now the bed pushed up against the wall, a desk and chair, and three tall bookshelves. A rug has been rolled up and moved aside to make room for the pentagram, and a closet door is ajar, through which he can see familiar looking suits hanging side by side. “Is this your _bedroom_?” He eyes the bed with interest.

“Save your dirty thoughts for later, perv,” Matsukawa says, continuing to pull him out the door, Kindaichi and Akira following, after Akira scoops up the book that fell to the floor.

The hallway is narrow, and Hanamaki surveys the cozy apartment curiously, as he’s led through it to the kitchen. There’s a table with four chairs, and the three of them take a seat, Hanamaki pulling in his wings in order to do so comfortably, as Matsukawa begins to set the table for the meal. Akira sits directly across from him, watching him. Hanamaki gives him a reassuring smile.

“I’m not going to disappear, don’t worry,” he says, nudging his leg with his foot underneath the table.

Akira’s cheeks grow a faint pink, caught in his anxiety. Still, he doesn’t look away until the food is placed in front of him. Matsukawa sits beside Hanamaki once he serves everyone, and he nudges Hanamaki’s shoulder gently with his own.

Hanamaki’s chest aches, as he realizes this is his first-time eating dinner with a family. In the Kunimi household, he prepared their meals but always ate in the kitchen, never allowed to feel like he belonged.

Here, though, even with the threat of war on the horizon, he feels safe, at peace. He watches the faces of those around him, as they give thanks and eat and swap stories, filling Hanamaki in on what he missed the past three months, and he feels like he finally _does_ belong.

He’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The council of the White Rose coven is found guilty of summoning and contracting demons. They are stripped of their magic, and new leadership is put in place to rework the coven's entire order of operations. The Hinokoku trials are halted indefinitely. Terushima quits his work as a security guard and becomes a Demon Hunter, with the support of his girlfriend, Misaki Hana. Despite the change in council members, Kindaichi follows in Iwaizumi's footsteps to become a member of the House of the Eastern Star. Kunimi does, as well. While he still prefers napping, Kunimi does continue training, this time with Kindaichi, so that he can become his hunting partner once they get their licenses.
> 
> As a member of the Eastern Star coven, Iwaizumi is now legally allowed to register as Oikawa's official hunting partner, which he does. They go on to banish and slay many demons together and rise in the ranks of Demon Hunters, eventually ending up in second place behind Ushijima's Shiratorizawa team. This bothers Oikawa to no end, but thankfully Iwaizumi has ways of distracting him.
> 
> Watari continues at the Healthy Vine Clinic and Apothecary, on track to becoming a great Healer and potion maker. Yahaba and Kyoutani settle into their new place and waste no time making it their home. Yahaba passes his license exam with flying colors, and afterwards he and Kyoutani fight many demons and imps side-by-side.
> 
> Hanamaki and Matsukawa live together happily, Matsukawa continuing to tutor young witches-in-training. Hanamaki enjoys all the perks of a modern lifestyle free of invisible chains, and he takes every opportunity he can to meme on his friends. True to his word, Matsukawa _does_ fuck him, quite often. Hanamaki basks in every second of it.
> 
> Meanwhile, rumors of a pending apocalypse continue to circulate, and many start their preparations for war . . .
> 
> * * *
> 
> that's all for this one, folks! thank you so much for the kudos and all the encouraging words and support!!
> 
> stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion of the Being Human 'verse (the main storyline, at least) where we find out what exactly happens to the boy from the dungeon and the fate of Japan~


End file.
